


With Teeth

by Teh_Poet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bloodplay, Bottom Harry, Brief Het, Cutting, Depression, Dom/sub, Drug Use, First Time, Fluffy Ending, Jealousy, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, NIN, Nine Inch Nails, Oral Sex, Pain, Punishment, Self Harm, Spanking, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Top Draco, professional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teh_Poet/pseuds/Teh_Poet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry feels increasingly discontented with himself and life, knowing he needs something else. He spends his time admiring Draco from afar, and discovers certain late night extracurricular activities offered by the appropriately named "Slytherine Sex God" and signs up for instruction. Getting both more AND less than he anticipated, he finds himself wanting to withdraw, and not completely able.</p><p> </p><p>WARNING: This story is incredibly angsty, and unabashedly emo... It involves explicit descriptions of S/M and bondage sex, as well as mention of self harm, attempts at suicide, and most definitely a fluffy ending (just to offset all the negativity floating around these kid's lives).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All the Love in the World

**Author's Note:**

> AFTERTHOUGHT-- Guys GUYS this is not a ridiculously accurate portrayal of teh scene and it's fuckin' angsty as shit I wrote this YEEEAARS ago... Don't get me wrong, I like this story and I'm glad others do too, I just want to make sure that people know this isn't how healthy/safe/smart/experienced bdsm-ers do this... >.>
> 
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> This story follows my understanding (or contrivance) of the themes in Nine Inch Nail's "With Teeth". Clearly I own no part of their music and any lyrics posted belong to them, and I make no money from the use of their materials.
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> My album/fics follow a very specific patter: One chapter for every song, plus the summary, and possibly an additional author's note at the end. The beginning and end of each chapter features a few select lines from the song the chapter is based off of. These serve to set the mood of the progression of the story.
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> Today's adventure is slightly AU in the sense that I could not find a logical way to insert this into canon. I’m not stating a specific timeline; just assume that the boys are old enough to understand what they’re doing (to a point) and engage in the sorts of relationships they’re creating. Also, Voldemort is not an issue. I believe I mentioned him once in passing somewhere in this story, but pay no mind to him. This is strictly an exercise in emotion and relations.

**Hiding in the crowd, I'm all alone  
No one's heard a single word I've said  
They don't sound as good outside my head **

-

Harry stared at the plate on the table in front of him. His best mate Ron was loudly chewing at his OTHER best mate Hermione, who was bossily poking him back. Inane school-related chatter echoed around him competing with the clatter of forks and spoons plates. All of this was numbingly mundane activity, and Harry was oblivious to everything. If you could consider anything at all taking his attention, it might be the icy blonde directly in his line of vision at the other end of the hall. Draco seemed to be the center of the Slytherin table. The excitement surrounding him, the flurry of people, the air of importance; He expected to be loved, and that is what he was. Harry couldn’t stand to watch, but he also knew he couldn’t NOT. Everything about the other boy hurt Harry. Everything about the other boy made Harry feel the possibility that he might be alive. It was a painful sort of confliction of emotions, but he was learning to live with it.

That didn’t make it any less painful, though.

The gaggle of Slytherins shifting, and moving as one towards the exit of the Great Hall caught Harry’s attention. He followed the mass with his eyes, never giving a sign that he wasn’t paying attention to the Gryffindors in front of him. Draco walked in the exact center of the group, yet seemed to lead them all.

The soft, distracted snort exiting Harry’s nose caught his friend’s attentions, and the pause in what would pass as conversation drew him from his blank musings.

“What?”

“Harry, you okay? You look a little glazed.”

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron, surprised that he noticed anything, considering it was breakfast.

“I’m fine. Eat your bacon.”

Ron grunted satisfactorily. Returning to the last bit of bacon on his plate, he reached for the newly filled glass of pumpkin juice, and seemed to immediately forget all about the pause. Hermione, being a girl AND the clever witch she was, lingered a bit longer, appraising Harry’s appearance. Nothing seemed different, he always looked this gaunt and haunted. This alone was enough of a reason to go back to the twins sitting next to her. Harry shook his head, amazed at how little his friends seemed to care about him. Overcome with a wave of emotion, he jumped up from the table, tears stinging at his eyes. The way he departed the table could hardly be called a run, and that was the only reason no one moved to follow, or even watch him disappear.

 

**

A small part of knew he was over-reacting. He’d never given them a reason to assume anything was wrong, not really. While he desperately wanted someone to reach out and ask him what was wrong, he did everything he could to cover up that anything may be wrong in the first place. But of course Harry wasn’t thinking about this right now. He was content to wallow in his grief and self-pity, mourning the loss of something he never really had.  
He had run from the Hall straight to his dorm, and so he sat in his bed waiting out the rest of breakfast. He had his arms wrapped around his knees in a sort of hug, needing the reassuring comfort he felt he couldn’t ask of his friends; the same “friends” who didn’t even bother to take the time to notice that he felt ripped in two inside.  
Suddenly it was very difficult to control his breathing, and he began rocking back and forth at a slightly frantic pace. The pain in his chest seemed too tight to be normal, and he had to squeeze his eyes tightly, to try to shut everything out. He could only describe the pain as a numb weight, and it slowly broadened and dulled enough for him to open his eyes. His blood roared in his ears and his breathing seemed to move his whole frame. His view drifted to the side, and he noticed the glint of metal sitting on his dressing table. Reached a shaky hand out for it, he fingered the familiar utensil. It was something he had found lying on the ground of one of the passageways he used when roaming the castle one night.

Harry straightened the folded blade and tested the edge with the pad of his thumb. It didn’t cut into his finger, but he could tell it was still sharp. It was always sharp. He guessed there was a charm on it to keep the edge from dulling. He took a deep breath, not even noticing how easy it suddenly was. The dangerous edge almost hypnotized him; calming him to a state of quiet awareness. He bit his lip, and suddenly moved; a chaotic whirlwind compared to the contemplative stillness of before. He threw off blankets and ripped apart buttons, shoving his pants to rest around his knees exposing his slightly tanned thighs.

Tracing the blade along his skin, he simply drug the sensation out. It gave him goose bumps, one of his favourite things. The tip left a faint white mark, only visible to him because he was the one doing it. He repositioned the knife to an expanse just above his knee, placing the blade deliberately. He pressed in, more pressure, more pressure. With more pressure came more anxiety and just when he thought he would break the skin, he tore the knife away and closely examined the location. It shallow dent was almost triangular, and much darker than the rest of his skin. He touched it, mysteriously enthralled with the texture.

By now, his breath had quickened and he replaced the knife to the same spot, carefully lining up. Shutting his eyes again, he renewed the pressure, preparing to pull a line across his knee. At just the last moment the task became too great to handle, and he pulled the knife away again. His desires conflicted with each other; equally wanting to make the blood flow, and to never touch the metal to his skin again. The battle inside made him suddenly angry, and he balled his hands into fists, curling his toes. He could feel his entire body go rigid with tension and it hurt, but once he relaxed he was able to see a little more clearly.

Suddenly he glanced up, realizing how long he must have been, holed up in his dorm alone. He cast a tempus, and cursed aloud. He was twenty minutes late for his first class of the day, but this wasn’t nearly as bad as the associated news. His first class of the day was a double block of potions.

 

**

 

It had taken him another ten minutes to redress and make his way to the dungeons. When he finally skidded to a stop in front of the potions classroom he paused, staring at the door. Besides the heaving breaths he took, he felt nothing as stood in the hall. An overwhelming sense of not wanting to face the day swept over him. All he wanted to do was turn around and forget about everything, but even his feet seemed filled with apathy. He couldn’t turn around or move forward. He simply stood, numbly staring at the door in front of him, not able to make a decision. It was made for him, however, when the door slowly swung open, and he was startled to find himself face to face with the hulking, bat-like form of Professor Snape.

The altogether unpleasant man stood towering over young Harry Potter, sneering down his hook-nose.

“Nice of you to join us, Mister Potter,” drawled the silken voice of the Potions Master.

Harry simply stared at him with wide eyes, a touch of shock ghosting his features. He heard sniggers from inside the classroom, and thought he saw the worried look exchanged between Ron and Hermione. His mouth worked silently, only feebly making an attempt at some sort of excuse or reasoning or at least a greeting in answer to the professor’s sarcastic remark. Nothing came, however, and an almost amused glint twinkled in Snape’s left eye, doing nothing to crack the stone façade masking any emotions or thoughts.

“Do come in.”

He stepped aside gesturing for Potter to enter, as if it was his home and Harry was coming for a social call. Harry eyed him wearily, swallowing thickly as he crossed the threshold, ready at any moment for something unexpected: a hex, a chastisement, a detention, anything. He got nothing though, and he slunk to his seat between his friends as Snape turned to the front of the class room, his robes eerily calm as he strode swiftly to face the students.

Hermione turned to Harry as soon as Snape seamlessly dived back into his lecture and she hissed at him in indignation.

“Where WERE you, Harry? We were so worried when you just disappeared from breakfast, but then you didn’t come back for class, and you were so late, what were you doing?”

‘If you were so worried about me, then why didn’t you come looking for me?’ was what Harry had WANTED to say, but the only thing staving off the sarcastic comment was the piteously serious concern bathing her expression. Instead Harry mumbled something unintelligible, faking a convincing expression, and turned to “pay attention to the lesson”. Of course Hermione wasn’t going to argue with school-work, but she still stole quick glances at him when Snape’s back was turned.

Harry’s attentions weren’t on the lesson either; his gaze was pointed directly at the blonde near the front of the classroom. He was almost disgusted with himself at how enthralled with the other boy he seemed to be. He couldn’t help the intense pull he felt whenever he was near him, though. The lift of need he felt for the boy mixed with the anguish over the fact that he couldn’t have him twisted his insides terribly. It was almost pleasurable in a masochistic sort of way, but he could never admit to anybody, let alone himself, that he liked the painful conflict of emotions.

For now he was simply content to pine after Malfoy from afar. He found himself wishing he’d been given more opportunity to befriend the blonde; whether by station or birth, or house sorting. Anything that would mean he and the blond had been able to be even just friends, even though he knew he was kidding himself on that front. He didn’t want to just be noticed by the blonde. He wanted HIM.

He was suddenly almost jealous of all the people in his life. Harry knew he surely had to be better than most of them, if not all. They were Slytherin, he was Gryffindor. He had to be a better person. The thought ‘what makes them so special’ was very hard to keep out of his mind. The fact remained, though, that there were just too many people around him; watching him, following him, being with him.

And Draco loved it. It seemed to be what he was made for.

Harry couldn’t figure it out, even though he seemed to be affected by whatever everyone else was afflicted with to be so enraptured with the Ice Prince. The thought of him, the thought of being with him, brought a warm feeling spreading across his body. A warm feeling followed closely by a sharp pang, because he knew that’s all it would ever be. A thought.

Hermione noticed the glassy expression on Harry’s face, recognizing it as one of the day-dreaming variety, and jabbed in the ribs.

“Harry, you can’t get into any more trouble today, you’re lucky enough that Snape didn’t give you a detention!”

Almost before she managed to complete the sentence, as if he were waiting for her to mention it, Professor Snape dismissed the class, but not before adding,

“And that will be a detention with me tonight for being late, Potter.”

-

**All the jagged edges disappear  
Colors all are brighter when you're near  
The stars are all afire in the sky  
Sometimes I get so lonely, I could…**


	2. You Know What You Are

**I tried to sing myself through, tried to get to the other side  
I got to patch up the cracks in the holes that I have to hide  
For a little bit of time we've been making it work okay  
Just long enough to really make it hurt**

-

Harry stumbled blankly through the portrait hole after his detention with Snape. There were times when he really wondered if he would ever feel anything again; emotions seemed to have been replaced with a dead weight in the center of his chest. He was torn between furious with the fact he had to stay up half the night polishing trophies by hand, and not caring if he never got back to the dorms to sleep. He was sure he wouldn’t find sleep anyway. He’d just lie awake, not thinking about anything in particular, except maybe (okay, most likely) a certain Slytherin that haunted his waking dreams. He knew there was nothing to do about it, and a part of him was sure it was simply an unattainable infatuation that he had created to torture himself. He wasn’t even entirely sure about what he wanted from Draco anyway.

Harry shook his head, trying desperately to clear it of thoughts like that. He wanted to go to bed, and just forget everything. He tip-toed up the stairs to his bed, simultaneously hoping everyone was asleep by now, and wanting them to have stayed up for him. He was both relieved and annoyed when he found the lights off in the room. He shuffled softly to his own bed, sitting down and closing the curtains tightly.

He leaned back on his bed, and closed his eyes, holding his temples with his fingers. A shaky breath escaped his lips, and he swallowed hard, trying to stave off any more extreme swing in mood. He started trembling gently, but soon he couldn’t hold his hands still. He closed them into fists repeatedly (an attempt to control them), but somehow couldn’t keep his foot from tapping against the cover. The pressure in his chest and in his head built, and he felt the need to get up, pace, do something. He couldn’t risk waking anybody, though. If he woke somebody, questions would follow. He didn’t think he could talk to anybody, especially not during one of these attacks.

Trying desperately to keep his breathing under control he bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, and was overcome by a powerful wave of dizziness. Falling onto his side, he curled into a ball and gently rocked back and forth. He hoped the motion would distract his inner turmoil, but he was losing his sense of touch along with everything else. The knife fell out of his robes and he stared at it. He had pocketed it earlier in his rush to get to class on time, and completely forgotten about it. He stilled suddenly, though the pressure on the inside had reached an almost unbearable level. He simply stared at the metal, contemplating it. The blade always seemed to have that mental calming effect on him, and even though his breath was still coming in soft pants, he felt just the tiniest bit better. He reached out tentatively, sure that touching the knife would cause something dangerous to happen, but he closed his fingers around it. Something stirred on the inside and he sat up slowly, his breath slowly coming easier.

Opening the blade, he tested the edge with a fingertip. The cool feel of the metal was enough to make him shiver, and he quickly re-adjusted himself so that he was once again playing the knife along his thigh. His heart-beat thudded loudly in his ears, and he licked his lips nervously. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth, and sat up straighter, leaning into his knee. He stared hard, following the trail the blade made. He found the spot he failed on earlier, and pressed the tip into the dent that was still there. He closed his eyes, applying more and more pressure. Just as he was about to make the cut, he pulled back. Suddenly paranoid about germs, he grabbed his wand and cast a quick scourgify,.

Harry’s heart thudded hollowly in his chest, louder than before. He could feel the adrenaline flooding his system, and he got back into position to try again, but his hand seemed frozen where it was. He dug the nails of his other hand into his palm, and tried to push harder, but he just couldn’t. He gritted his teeth, furious with himself for being such a pansy. He could never actually do it, no matter how much he wanted to. He let out a frustrated noise, and angrily threw the knife to the bed.

“I can’t take this anymore…”

He got up, and reached into his trunk for his invisibility cloak. He threw it on before even leaving the room, not caring how much noise he made for once. The Fat Lady mumbled in sleepy indignation as she was forced to swing open. He stomped through the corridors, the steam quickly blowing off. Finally he slowed to a quiet sort of meditative stroll. He didn’t care where he was going, but he wasn’t in a hurry to get there anymore. He strode past the paintings and tapestries, and took them all in. It had been so long since he had really looked at everything in the castle, and he took the opportunity now. Most of them were asleep, so he didn’t get to see everything there was, but there were some interesting ones he hadn’t noticed before.

He followed a particularly enchanting stretch of art, and wasn’t really paying attention to what parts of the castle he was going through. He was suddenly aware of the fact that he’d managed to make his way through the dungeons. He recognized the Slytherine common room entrance, and was shocked by how far down he’d gotten. He wasn’t ready to go back yet, as he hadn’t really ever explored that far down in the castle, so he kept going. He was no longer paying attention to the paintings, so much as the architecture around him. It was almost comfortable, if not a little on the colder side.

Harry followed a hallway just past the stairs leading down to the Slytherine common room. He noticed the air getting slightly cooler, and a little damp. The tapestries disappeared from the walls, and even the sconces holding the torches lighting the way grew less and less elaborate. The entire area seemed so cold and uninviting, so drab and dull, that Harry no longer had any desire to be there. He was about to turn around, just go back to bed, when he heard a shout followed by a choked sob.

“What the hell was that?”

His voice echoed through the corridor, reverberating, and growing louder. He winced, convinced that someone would hear, and he would miss whatever trouble was happening. However, Harry was still the Saviour of the Wizarding World and whatever trouble WAS happening, he was going to go and find out. So he ran down the hall, as quietly as possible, looking for the source of the noise. The further he got, the clearer he heard. The choked sob turned into a keening inarticulate plea, and then, curiously, a sharp thwack.

“That’ll teach you to cry, you little pansy!”

Harry skidded to a stop, dumbfounded by what he heard. He rounded a corner and the light grew brighter, the air a little warmer. It seemed to be coming from a room in the center of the corridor, its door slightly ajar. Harry approached cautiously, now more curious as to the goings on in that room, rather than suspicious. Another sharp thwack resounded through the air, followed by a muffled sob. Harry stepped closer, and his jaw dropped at the scene unfolding before him.

“I told you to stop fucking crying!”

Harry’s eyes were glued to a figure on his knees in the center of the room. His arms were tied behind his back with strips of buckled leather, and another strip of leather through his mouth had a large red ball muffling any noise he tried to let out. A strip of cloth was tied around his eyes, and the material looked soaked.

Standing above him, with his back to the door, stood a figure draped in black leather pants. Buckles adorned the legs, and studs ran down the seams. A riding crop lay in the figure’s hand and he moved slowly, circling the bound body. Harry’s eyes followed the figure, moving over the straps falling from the sharp hips, up the smooth muscled torso, across the wide milky shoulders, over the tousled platinum locks. The figure turned around and Harry was shocked to see that it was Draco Malfoy holding the riding crop (and also by how sexy he looked in scant but a bit of leather).

“You make me sick, you sniveling little cry-baby. Can’t even stand up and be a man. Who do you think you are to deserve to even kneel at my feet?”

Harry could see the bound figure shaking, trying to hold back more tears. Draco crooked the crop and brought it down hard on the leather-covered arms, leaving a fresh red welt to join the rest. A weak sob slipped from the gagged lips and Draco pivoted, back-handing him. He fell to the floor, lying on his side. He tried to curl into a ball, but Draco stepped on his face grinding the dirt from the bottom of his shoe into the red cheek. Draco removed his foot and spit on him, marring the figure further. Leaning down, he grabbed a handful of brown hair and wrenched the head up-wards. He whispered some words into the man’s ear and leaned back, slamming his head back into the floor.

The entire time Harry stood enraptured. The scene before him was so fascinating he couldn’t move. Harry had never thought about this sort of thing before, but now that he was faced with it he was aware of an uncomfortable tightness in his crotch.

Draco stood up straight and turned around, pausing long enough to pull a long thin stick from a back pocket. He tossed it nonchalantly behind him, and it landed on the figure still bound on the ground. He made his way towards the door and Harry froze, convinced he had been caught. He started to sweat, and backed up clumsily. Draco paused, mere feet from where Harry stood. He looked over Harry curiously, then behind him, then down the hall. He stared at Harry again, then shook his head as if shaking off a bad feeling. He passed him by and strode confidently down the hallway, towards the main corridor and the Slytherin common rooms.

Harry fell back against the wall not at all sure why he’d just managed to get away, when he felt the sheen of fabric against his skin. He remembered the invisibility cloak, and would have started laughing if someone had not just walked out of the room. He didn’t recognize him, but could tell he was an upper-classmen. The dazed face looked both ways down the corridor, almost nervously. He smoothed his hair back, and followed Draco’s path out of the hallway.

 

**

 

Harry clambered through the portrait hole, The Fat Lady once again protesting sleepily. He didn’t pay attention to any noise he made; he didn’t bother trying to cover up his absence or re-entrance. He was slightly numb, in shock. What he had seen made him question himself, but he couldn’t figure out why. He knew it turned him on, but it also made him feel slightly sick to his stomach. He was used to conflicting emotions, but he didn’t know what to do with this particular taste in his mouth. He stumbled up the stairs towards his bed, tugging off the cloak. He finally took a moment to care about being caught as he slowly nudged open the door, tiptoeing to his bed. He tensed as a couple of the boys turned over in their sleep, but no one woke up and Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he lowered himself onto his bed.

Drawing the curtains, Harry undressed himself getting comfortable for sleep. Once between the covers he knew he wasn’t really tired, but he didn’t have it in him to stay up any longer. His mind replayed the scene in the dungeons over and over again: the boy on his knees, bound and gagged; Draco beating him and yelling at him, the leather and metal adorning both bodies. The heat in his chest was spreading down and he fidgeted, not at all sure that he truly wanted to wank over an accidentally-discovered bondage scene involving two guys.

That fact didn’t stop the heat from hitting his crotch, though, and it spread until the tightness got worse. The more he thought about what he saw, the more he wanted to do something about the physical sensation he was experiencing. His hand drifted over the blanket lying atop him. He spread his fingers out, and traced the outline of his body, stopping short when his hand bumped into something hard and ice cold to the touch. The knife… Remembering the reason he was exploring the dungeons in the first place, he palmed the blade pulling it open and smoothed his fingers over the sharp edge.

Sliding his hands and their prize under the duvet, he traced the blade’s tip along his skin moving over his stomach. He fingered his navel, dipping the tip of the knife in briefly, delighting in the tense shiver it sent down his spine. Goosebumps cropped up over his skin, making his flesh feel taut, and he traced the knife lower; under the edge of his underpants and over his legs, down then up over his inner thighs. He moved slowly, dragging out the feeling.

He moved the fingers of his other hand over his throat then down to caress his nipples, delighting in the contrast between his normal flesh, and that of his aroused body. Swallowing hard he moved lower, and lower, finally coming to the nest of curls that signified what he really wanted to touch was close. He massaged his skin gently, the image of Draco clad so provocatively never leaving his mind’s eye.

Finally his hand rested around his cock, and he sighed at finally having contact. Squeezing firmly, his breath was already beginning to pick up. His first hand continued to caress his flesh with the blade. He concentrated the tip on the sensitive spot just inside his hips under the ‘v’ of his pelvis, each swipe of the knife conjuring a twitch that tightened his hold on his length. Small whimpers escaped, ruining his conscious attempt at not waking his roommates. He felt himself moving closer to the edge, and he worked quicker and smoother. The scene in his head changed slightly; the point of view altered drastically, to where Harry himself was the object of punishment. His cock pulsed at the difference. He imagined not being able to move, being at someone else’s mercy, and he choked back a cracked sob at how badly he suddenly needed to come.

His control over the knife slipped a little and the tip dug in deeper, but either Harry didn’t notice or it simply served to bring him closer. He quickened his movements, and cut deeper. He felt the sting blushing forth on his side, a miniscule amount of something warm and sticky barely making itself known through the haze in his mind as he squeezed tighter around the base of his cock, pulling tight to the end. He increased the slight pinch at the head of his heat, and he was sure that he would wake somebody, but he was so close he didn’t care. He felt an imaginary blow across his back, something sharp and hot, and he could feel the thin line of heat from the cut the knife managed and the tightness in his abdomen. They all combined to become too much and it tipped him over the edge, spiraling down into numbing spasms of blinding white pleasure.

He came to, what felt like hours later, having fallen into a clean deep sleep. The inside of his sheets felt mucky and he lifted his covers, making a face at the mess covering his belly. Between the blood and come, he thought his shorts needed burning. Instead he reached for his wand, magically cleansing the area. He rolled over, the scene running through his head again. He felt dirty. Both for spying, and because it got him so hot he had to ‘take matters into his own hand’ so to speak.

He shuddered when he thought about it; he didn’t want to think of himself as a pervert, and that’s exactly what the scene of him wanking to the memory of spied-bondage made him feel like. He shook his head and pressed his hands to his temples briefly, before letting go and letting sleep slowly take over again.

-

**You can push it all out, you can try to pretend  
But you can’t change anything, you can’t change anything, in the end**


	3. The Collector

**I pick things up, I am a collector  
And things, well things, they tend to accumulate  
I have this net, it drags behind me  
It picks up feelings for me to feed upon**

-

Draco knelt down and pulled on the chains attached to the younger man’s neck, forcing him up onto his knees. He stared hard into the eyes of his submissive, seeing the glint of defiance that he so rarely saw in his ‘clients’ these days. He covered his careless smirk of satisfaction by blending it into a sneer he had so patently perfected.

“What do you want tonight, slut.”

“I -“

Before he could go any further than the first word, Draco pulled back his arm and back-handed him sending him crashing down on his side.

“You know the rules, slut. No speaking. I thought you would have gotten that one down by now. Sometimes I wonder if you… want… me to punish you.”

Draco paused tantalizingly on the word ‘want’, and did not fail to notice the spontaneous grin that spread across the other man’s face. He walked around until he faced the figure still lying on the ground. He kicked him suddenly, very forcefully in the stomach, and dismissed the coughing by mumbling derisively the word ‘slut’ once more.

“Get up!”

The figure struggled to his knees, knowing that getting all the way to his feet would be pushing it much too far. Draco stood in front of him once more, slowly pulling apart the fastenings of his leather pants.

“You know the drill, whore.”

The figure on his knees looked up briefly, his gaze met with a quirked eyebrow.

“You’re not doing very well tonight, are you whore…”

The man swallowed and Draco grabbed his hair, slamming the face into his knee.

“Do I need to re-teach you all of the rules?”

The figure had fallen on his side once again, and Draco spit on him. He noticed that the fallen figure’s breath was coming in short pants, and forced himself not to roll his eyes. Tugging on his hair once again, he pulled the figure back into position and held him in place.

“I said, ‘you know the drill, whore’… now suck.”

The figure, already faced with a rather impressive erection, opened his mouth slowly and gently took the length in. Draco was in no mood to play soft, nor did he think the figure on his knees really wanted to either, so he tightened his hold on the hair and forced himself the rest of the way in. His breath hitched as his head hit the back of the man’s throat.

He noticed the bulge in the other man’s crotch and knew he was on the right track, so he pulled out and slapped the man hard never loosening his grip on the hair.

“I said suck!”

This time the figure did as he was told and took in the entire length on his own. Draco had to stop himself from putting a hand on a shoulder to steady himself, but the hand holding the figure’s hair was almost enough to help. He leaned back, and when the figure came forward he snapped his hips further down, smiling at the strangled choking sound.

“Don’t stop,” he growled.

The figure complied and sped up his movements (as well as his breathing). He motions grew more erratic and Draco watched, scrutinizing, his own breath coming in short pants. He felt the tightness and heat pooling in his stomach, spreading. He twitched not sure if he wanted to hold back, but his body decided for him and he let go, his orgasm taking over.

He grabbed the back of the figure’s head and held it still as it thrashed trying to free itself as the last of his spasming subsided.

“Swallow it.”

The figure struggled more, not having the benefit of Draco pulling out yet, but he managed to get most of it down, even though some slipped out and dribbled through the corners of his mouth. When Draco was somewhat satisfied he let go and pulled out, tucking himself away. He lifted a foot, leaning it against the man’s chest, and kicked him away. He heard the thwack as the head hit the floor, but didn’t bother checking. He simply pulled the wand out of his back pocket, and tossed it in the figure’s general direction and walked out the door. He didn’t stop, but as he exited the room he parted with a half hearted,

“Not bad, whore…”  
Had he stuck around any longer he would have heard the tell-tale sounds of rustling cloth and slick skin moving against skin.

**

 

Draco stood in his room in front of the mirror, mentally scoffing at the loud snoring coming from both ends of the room. He always got up early, before anyone else in his dorm. It was a habit his father had managed to drill into him, one of the few Draco actually approved of. He touched up his hair, slicking back each piece carefully. He looked down, adjusting his school robes. It was very important to him to have everything in its place. Once he was sure he had everything perfect he turned and walked deliberately out of the room, down into the common area.

He sat in a commanding armchair by the fire examining a number of large texts, finally settling on a particularly old volume that was seemingly charmed to never let the dust wear off. He flipped through the pages, found what he was looking for, and charmed a quill to take notes for him. He continued like this, studying in silence, until he heard awkward steps on the landing across the room. He didn’t need to look up to know that it was Pansy. Her clumsy attempt at a graceful gait did nothing to pique his interest, save for an internal eye roll at her utter clueless-ness.

“Draco, what are you doing up this early?”

Draco gritted his teeth, but forced himself to stay civil.

“The same thing I do every morning, Pansy.”

Semi-civil.

She was either oblivious, or cunningly insistent, but either way she sat down on the arm of the chair and leaned back, attempting to be enticing but only serving to annoy Draco even more.

“Do you mind, Pansy? I am terribly busy, there are many tests today, and I’d rather like to do well on them.”

Everyone in Slytherin knew Draco’s reputation for keeping his grades up. The only thing keeping him from turning into a Hermione was the fact that he kept a rather balanced approach to everything. He wasn’t out to prove himself to anybody; he had nothing to prove, he was already flawless. He simply wanted to do well, because that’s what Malfoys did.

“But Draco, I-“

Draco only had to look at her, no real emotion playing over his features, for her to shut up and leave him alone.

Draco noticed the common room filling up, and knew that breakfast was soon. He swished his wand packing all of his things away, and stood just as his ‘group’ arrived by his side. He nodded to them in a curt motion, and turned to make his way out and into the hall. Naturally, everyone followed. He couldn’t tell if he was glad of their devotion and obedience, or if he just wanted them to leave him the fuck alone. So he set his face, the marble mask falling into place, and stared straight ahead making his way to the dining hall.

 

**

 

Once again Draco sat at the table, surrounded by his ‘friends’, laughing at jokes, supplying snide remarks for others to laugh at, and generally just taking advantage of being the center of attention; the person everyone looks to for what to do next. He looked down at his plate, pushing around the few last dregs of his supper, when a tense hush fell over the table. The air seemed rife with expectation and he looked up, careful not to let anything slip. It was harder than he expected when he saw the cause of the break in conversation.

Harry effing Potter, ‘the-boy-who-lived-to-annoy’, stood staring almost sheepishly down at him, but with a glint of defiance. It definitely piqued Draco’s interest. He quirked an eyebrow to let Potter know that he was listening, but the boy only looked down at his feet, shuffling slightly.

“Potter…?”

Harry looked up nervously, and tugged his lower lip between his teeth. He reached for a strand of hair, twiddling nervously, but then a sudden change took over and he squared his shoulders, levelly staring at Draco.

“Malfoy, my I have a word?”

“It seems you’ve had six.”

The lazy drawl was met with a furrowed brow, followed by a quick glare, immediately replaced with a blank yet approachable gaze.

“I meant alone.”

Draco glanced around his table, taking in the interested expressions.

“Got something you’re afraid to say in front of my friends, Potty?”

Harry clenched his jaw, briefly. Draco just smirked in reply.

“Ah, so it’s that you’re embarrassed to say it.”

A quickly lowered gaze and a faint blush told Draco that he was actually correct in his jibe. He narrowed his eyes curiously at the so called ‘golden boy’, and rose to his feet. Questioning looks hit him from all angles but he only shook his head a fraction of an inch, enough to tell them ‘no’, and simply walked away exiting the great hall.

Harry sensed that he was meant to follow and shook himself from his daze, sprinting after the figure that had already disappeared.

 

**

 

“Tell me you’re joking, Potter.”

Upon learning the subject of Harry’s proposed conversation, Draco had led Harry to a special room located down a hallway that opened up just past the Slytherin common room. Of course he didn’t know that Harry already knew about this room, and had visited it (at least just outside of it) many times. He was having enough trouble completely understanding the request Harry had just made of him.

“I’m completely serious, Malfoy. I’ve… heard… that you’ve done this for other people.”

“And where did you… ‘hear’ this?”

Harry faltered, and stumbled over his words before reclaiming his confident mask.

“Where is not important. I’m correct, aren’t I?”

Draco studied the boy, looking him up and down, and decided he must be sincere. Somewhat convinced that he wasn’t ‘outing’ him, or setting him up for some absurd sting operation, he nodded his affirmation.

“You are. But what makes you think I’d extend my… services… to the likes of you?”

“I can pay you, if that’s what you mean. Money isn’t a problem.”

Scorn accompanied the usual sneer held in place on Draco’s lips.

“I’m not a prostitute, Potter. Money will not be included in any deal we make. I do what I do because it’s what I’m here to do, not because I need to.

Harry faltered once again. The façade was becoming harder and harder to hold in place. He was incredibly nervous just standing in front of Malfoy after learning of his night-time activities, let alone talking to him about them and asking him to include him. But he knew this was something he needed. Ever since he saw the look in Draco’s eyes on that first night he knew he needed to be looked at like that.

“I- I’m sorry. I’m just… I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Draco took in the quickly deflating form of his school yard rival. He truly did look uncomfortable to be there, and yet there he still was.

“Alright…”

Harry snapped to attention, not actually expecting him to agree to this absurd plan.

“What!?”

Draco’s eyes glittered with amusement at the conflict of emotion flitting in Harry’s own irises; the excitement and anticipation at the acceptance, and fear at what was going to happen.

“I said, ‘alright’. But there are a few questions I have to ask before we truly agree to anything.”

Harry just looked back at him, expectantly.

Draco pushed himself gracefully off of the desk on which he was previously perched. He walked around and circled Harry, almost predatorily, examining him from all angles and appreciating most of what he saw. Harry just stood where he was and clasped his hands in front him, his head down. Draco nodded his approval at the posture, making mental notes of body language.

“No matter the question, you must answer truthfully. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“What is it that you want from this… arrangement?”

Harry swallowed hard and tried to speak, but nothing came. His throat felt like it had an invisible wall in it; even though he really wanted to answer Draco, he simply did not have the ability.

“Potter?”

“I-I don’t know… This is kind of… new… for me…”

“I see.”

Harry averted his gaze, looking down and away from Malfoy’s piercing stare.

“Well, what do you like?”

Harry simply shrugged, feeling ashamed for his ineptitude.

“We have to set some rules, Potter, if we are going to do this.”

Harry nodded his understanding, but there seemed little he was able to do about it.

“Have you given any thought to what you want me to do for you?”

The heat staining Harry’s throat implied that he certainly had, and Draco smirked at the squirm developing in Harry’s toes.

“Stop fidgeting. I can guess that you don’t like humiliation?”

Harry paused, thinking the concept over. He shrugged once more, but he seemed better able to dialogue with the blonde still circling him.

“I guess…?”

“You guess?”

“Well… no… I don’t think I do…”

“And you seem to take well to directions. You like being told what to do?”

Harry nodded clearly, only after a slight hesitation.

Draco was beginning to get a feel for where Harry was in his mind, even if Harry himself didn’t quite understand it yet. He took in minute detail about Harry’s appearance, and hazarded a guess at,

“Surely you’re not into pain, Potter?”

Harry dropped his gaze, almost ashamed. Draco nodded, an understanding grin spreading.

“And have you decided whether or not you want there to be a… sexual element to our… activities?”

The warm flush tinting Harry’s cheeks burned to an outright crimson, and he could no longer keep his gaze trained in Draco’s general direction let alone look at him, but luckily that was enough of an answer for Draco.

Draco grinned in spite of himself, “To think, the golden boy himself, a bloody pouf.”

Harry swallowed hard in response, not quite comfortable with all the scrutinizing of his character, but he held fast not wanting to waver in front of him.

“And what is our limit?”

“Limit?”

“You said sex… How far?”

“Oh…”

If Draco thought Harry was blushing before, he was quite surprised at the shade he managed at this question. Was eggplant a healthy colour for a human being?

“Um… I- I mean…”

“Oh no… Please tell me you’re joking this time?”

Harry simply kept his focus on the ground at his feet.

“A pouf, but a virgin? And a pervert, how rich…”

Harry glared daggers at the boy before him, “If you don’t think you’re up to it Malfoy, just say so!”

“Oh, no; I’m… up… to it. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I’ve got an idea,” he mumbled quietly.

“Well, I’ll be honest; my kind of work isn’t gentle. It’s generally not for your kind.”

“My kind?”

“Virgins, Potter…”

“Oh…”

“But we can fix that… That is, if you’re sure you want to agree to this.”

Harry swallowed hard and looked up, meeting Draco’s gaze for the first time. He saw a smoky intensity very close to the one he had been dreaming about for the last few nights. He fought hard to remind himself that this wasn’t exactly normal, or that he shouldn’t expect much. ‘This is Malfoy.’ But he couldn’t let go of the tremendous swelling he felt in his chest when Draco looked him over as he was doing now. He was so used to a vacuous emptiness so painful he almost felt alive in its absence.

His lip trembled, but he managed a slow yet deliberate nod. Draco grinned, nigh wolfishly, and stepped forward closing any distance between their bodies.

“Good. Let’s get this over with now, shall we? I wouldn’t want you to let your nerves get the best of you…”

-

**There are times, plenty of times  
I wish I could let it go  
But it's time to make me think things  
I don't wanna know**


	4. The Hand that Feeds

What if this whole crusade's

A charade

And behind it all there's a price to be paid

For the blood

On which we dine

 

\--

 

“Harry, where are you going?”

 

Harry paused mid-step on his trek away from the table.

 

“I’ve got a potions essay to write…”

 

He imagined he fumbled over the words, but really the lie rolled effortlessly from his lips.

 

“We were all going to work on it after dinner, mate. Remember?”

 

Yeah, I ate a really big lunch. I’m just not hungry. I’ll see you guys later, yeah?”

 

He forced himself not to run away from the hall, and heard Hermione mumble to herself:

 

“No he didn’t, he hardly touched any of it.”

 

He closed his eyes tight really not wanting to get caught, but he made it all the way out of the hall without a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t like lying to his friends, but he really couldn’t take their conversations anymore. He fingered the charm around his neck, almost hiding under the edge of his collar. The charm around his neck was one of their rules.

 

“Rules…”

 

A smile twitched his lips at the memory the word brought him.

 

 

**

 

 

Harry backed away from Draco’s advance, wary of the almost predatory smile on his lips. Wary, and very keenly aware. His back hit the desk just as Draco closed in.

 

“What are you-“

 

“Relax, Potter. I told you, I don’t want your nerves getting the best of you.”

 

He trailed fingertips up Harry’s arms, noticing his dilated pupils and shallow breaths.

 

“M-Malfoy…”

 

“Now there are going to be some rules, Potter.”

 

Harry swallowed thickly, head buzzing.

 

“Rules?”

 

Draco leaned forward, feeling Harry tense. He nosed the delicate skin of his neck, testing sensitivity and earning a whoosh of breath over his ear as Harry let it go.

 

“Yes, rules,” before he retraced the path his nose took with the tip of his tongue.

 

The whimper, his reward, was barely noticeable but it was there. His tongue found Harry’s earlobe, pulling into his mouth. He sucked, tugging gently, eliciting a slightly more concrete whine.

 

“Malfoy…”

 

“The first rule,” he let go but kept his proximity, breathing into Harry’s ear, “is that you will no longer call me ‘Malfoy’.”

 

Harry’s brain fought to push through the fog Draco’s closeness created. He stumbled over his lips and tongue before settling on:

 

“W-what am I supposed to call you?”

 

“For now, you will refer to me as ‘sir’.”

 

“Sir? In public?”

 

The fog was lifting and Harry was growing uncomfortable. He shrunk in upon himself, feeling cold.

 

“No, not in public, and not tonight;” Another nip below his earlobe, another finger trailing down his arm, “Draco.”

 

The idea of calling the blonde by his first name would have been off-putting, but the nibble on his collar-bone sent a volley of electric spikes under his skin effectively making his legs feel like jello.

 

The lips left his neck, and Harry thought he might protest. The situation, the name, the cold as Malfoy (no, Draco) retreated; but then he felt a gentle hand on his jaw, guiding him to look forward into piercing blue eyes. The shock only strengthened when lips pressed softly against his own, but everything melted away as the other nibbled on his lower-lip.

 

Once Draco was satisfied with the distraction of the other boy’s nerves, he returned to his neck and mused that he rather liked the smell.

 

“Another rule:”

 

“Rule…”

 

The shaky breath uttered as teeth scraped the juncture between neck and shoulder and a soft tongue soothed away the bite.

 

“You will do what I say, when I say.”

 

Another lave of an earlobe.

 

“And there will be consequences for disobeying.”

 

Harry swallowed thickly doing his best to catalogue his orders, but the fingers tracing up his sides (and sliding under his shirt) made it impossible.

 

“An-anything?”

 

Thumbs brushed nipples, receiving another shaky gasp.

 

“This is about trust, Harry. That’s what you want, isn’t it? A safe place to be who you want to be, knowing no one will take advantage of you?”

 

Harry muddled through the words, deciding they made sense.

 

“O-okay.”

 

Sharp nails drug down sensitive flesh; fresh goose bumps and a small moan the reward.

 

“There will be a safe-word; a failsafe, if you truly do not feel comfortable with something,” he pulled back slightly and stared into the other’s eyes, “anything.”

 

Harry nodded his understanding. Draco returned to his task of turning him into a babbling puddle of goo (almost there).

 

“Something silly. Able to break the mood quickly.”

 

Draco missed the smirk on the other boy’s lips, but Harry’s response stopped him in his tracks.

 

“How about ‘ferret’?”

 

A half smile followed a quirk of an eyebrow; amusement, acceptance, approval; a nod.

 

“Ferret will do wonderfully. Do not forget it.”

 

Fingers returned to his sides playing the edge of the shirt up, exposing more and more skin. Another kiss, another swipe of the tongue to his neck, and the shirt disappeared landing not far away but still out of reach.

 

More nibbling of a collar-bone, more fingernails scraping skin, and Draco was aware of how aroused he was. Wanting Harry to be just as aware he stepped even closer, molding his form to the other’s; an extra tiny shove with his hips, and he bit back the smallest of verbal approvals at the contact simultaneously appreciating the keen so close to his ear.

 

“I might just enjoy this, Potter.”

 

Harry blushed furiously at the almost compliment, understanding the situation he was in.

 

The desk Harry had ended up sitting on provided just the right height and Draco gave another tiny shove with his hips, sliding along the body against him. Harry’s breathing sped with each shove, a fine whimper issuing from his throat.

 

“Draco-“

 

The whine seemed to prickle under the blonde’s skin, surprising him enough to regain his head. Remembering what he was there for he dropped lower, leaving a wet trail from his tongue down until he was on his knees.

 

The cool air hit Harry’s skin and he delighted in the contrast of hot and cold. It was only when he felt the tug at the fastenings of his pants that he jumped, hands flying to cover the blonde’s. He looked into blue eyes, panicked and pleading; Too much, too fast.

 

Draco rose, gently kissing Harry fully on the lips.

 

“Trust, remember Harry? We have an agreement.”

 

Harry hesitated, slowly nodding. The fear remained visible in his eyes as Draco resumed his attempts at getting Harry out of his pants. He hooked his fingers in the waistband pulling everything down, sliding it over his feet and tossing it to join the shirt.

 

Draco slid his hands up Harry’s legs, enlivening nerves and leaving a trail of goose-bumps in his wake. He took in the sight before him, musing how well quidditch had treated the other boy, and noticed the white lines along the thigh. A few bright red ones were sporadically placed, accenting the jut of the hips. He memorized each line; where it was and what it looked like, and moved his fingers along Harry’s stomach.

 

Harry had held his breath as his clothes were removed, shaking violently and trying his hardest to keep it together, when he felt heat and pressure on his VERY erect cock. His breath left his lungs so violently he went cross-eyed for just a moment, and he opened his eyes to find himself looking into blue once again.

 

“You’re ready…”

 

It was both a statement and a question. He palmed Harry’s length, waiting for an answer that wasn’t required. Harry’s eyes fluttered dangerously and the nod was almost non-existent, but Draco seemed to have already established a telepathic connection with the other boy. He read the other body so well he knew things Harry had never dreamed he’d discover.

At the acquiesce Draco dropped to his knees once more and pulled Harry forward gently, until he was almost standing. He guided Harry’s erection until it touched his lips, Harry keening at the contact. Licking forcefully just under the head brought a shout of surprise, for Harry had his eyes squeezed tightly shut again.

 

Pulling the entire length full into his mouth and down his throat (a practiced skill), Draco moved his tongue slightly trying to learn his way around the particular cock in his mouth.

 

Pulling back and sucking not too harshly on just the head elicited the sweetest moan Draco had ever heard a partner make. He noticed the white-knuckled grasp on the edge of the table, and the sweat clinging to Harry’s brow. His breaths were shallow as Draco worked another pass. Deciding that Harry was sufficiently out of his brain, he took the next step.

 

Reaching up and gently rolling Harry’s balls received a shudder, and Draco moved slowly, drawing out his time. He trailed a finger along Harry’s entrance and Harry’s eyes flew open at the contact, but the tongue around him stopped any thought of protesting.

 

Harry heard the sliding of a drawer though the buzz, and the finger returned just a moment later, this time cold and sick.

 

“D-Draco…”

 

The probe went unanswered as the mouth continued working on him slowly, almost lazily. The finger pressed in and Harry’s body tried to reject the advance, but it managed in and gently stroked the walls of the canal.

 

Harry’s breathing evened, leading Draco to push further; more slick, more fingers. Deeper, they pushed, falling into a lazy circle and searching to find that one spot that would:

 

“Draco!”

 

The shout forced through gritted teeth made Draco look up, a smirk planted in his eyes. Another rub brought another shout-turned-whine, the cue for another added finger. Not wanting to take too long, Draco rose back to his feet smiling to himself over Harry’s whimpered protest to the mouth leaving his crotch.

 

“Lay back, just to the edge of the desk.”

 

The husk in Draco’s voice was not lost on Harry, but he was in no position to point it out. He organized himself on the desk, following Draco’s order best he could. When Draco reached out for his hips, settling him where he wanted him, a strange mix of longing and confusion nipped at his consciousness. He thought he might know what was coming next, but he truly did not want to assume anything. The hand moving his feet up to rest on shoulders didn’t faze him. Only when he felt something once more at his opening (Draco’s hands mostly in plain view) did he throw a hand out again, over Draco’s.

 

He didn’t say anything this time, forcing himself to trust the blonde in such a position to take advantage of him. He forced his breaths to an even, if deep, cycle. His blink seemed to be the cue for Draco to continue, for that is exactly what he did. Moving slowly in, watching Harry’s face for clues to what he was feeling, Draco bit his lip trying not to close his eyes and surrender to the heat and pressure.

 

“Fuck Potter,” he spat out.

 

Harry peeked through his lashes, the squint his best way of dealing with the dull burn he felt in his back-side. He felt the tremors coursing through the other’s body as he stilled, not moving further in or out; the heavy breaths providing the only change.

 

Finally there was a small movement; slowly out just enough to give room to push back in. Only a light grunt escaped the perfectly manicured persona. Harry swallowed, trying to keep up with sensations barraging his senses; the burn when the other’s cock slid out slowly again before shoving quickly forward, the electricity that coursed under his skin as his prostrate was first brushed then jabbed, the breathy moans and grunts coming from the figure standing above him. All of it was more than he thought to expect.

 

Another slow-turned-sharp thrust and Harry arched, basking in his prostate being smashed once more. His feet slipped from Draco’s shoulders to rest around his waist, and Draco’s hands gripped tightly on his hips. Harry’s feet unconsciously pulled Draco closer, deeper thrusts the result. Now that the initial probe was over, the harder Draco thrust the louder Harry showed his appreciation for what he was doing.

 

Coincidentally, the harder Draco thrust the more he appreciated actually doing it, and his breathy grunts and unwilling moans turned into louder almost-shouts. The more frequent whimpers and soft pleads coming from the Gryffindor below him only spurned him on. Harry seemed to have trouble forming words, but when Draco gave another particularly forceful thrust Harry broke into a choked sob, begging for “more”, and “harder”. Draco was only happy to oblige, digging his nails deep in Harry’s hips, pulling him to meet his thrusts. The combination of the pain from the nails, so like that of the tip of a knife, and the assault on his prostate made Harry feel like crying from all the stimulation, but he knew he couldn’t do that in front of Draco no matter the talk of ‘trust’ and ‘safety’.

 

He settled on his choked breaths moans and shouts, as each thrust drove home the point about this being about an orgasm. Instinctively knowing it wasn’t quite enough, his hand reached of its own accord to hold his own cock tight. He didn’t want to give in to the shame of pulling himself off, but he didn’t have to as his hand was smacked away. Draco’s hand settled around the length pulling sharply up and back down, trying to match his own rhythm and failing miserably, but what did it matter when the contact forced Harry’s head back and arched his spine. The exposed expanse of neck was so enticing, the posture so beautiful, it set Draco off sooner than he expected and he came cursing into Harry’s tight passage; shuddering, quaking, spasming.

 

His hand never left Harry’s cock, and the combination of being filled and the pressure on his length gave Harry his turn over the edge. He curled up and in, eyes squeezed shut as his own essence was milked from him.

 

Finally he was able to fall back with a sharp thwack on the table. The bump on his head went un-noticed in the buzz of afterglow, and he stared through lidded eyes at the ceiling. His breaths came slightly easier with the pause. Draco pulled out, reaching to the side for his wand, and cleansed both with a quick charm. He fiddled with another drawer, and Harry barely noticed the leather and metal fastening around his neck. He only looked down after the hands retreated.

 

“Another rule: You will never take this off.”

 

Harry blinked to acknowledge the extension, unable to nod. He simply turned his eyes upwards, looking back at the ceiling.

 

 

**

 

 

Unfortunately another rule was no masturbation, and the memory was no friend to that rule. Harry bit his lip trying hard not to press a hand to his crotch, not to relieve just a little of the pressure, but the last thing Draco had said to him ricocheted around his brain:

 

*

 

“You are mine now, Potter. Your body belongs to me, and if what to do something to it, I will. If I don’t want something done to it, it will not happen, is that understood?”

 

*

 

Harry sighed fingering the charm once more, waiting patiently for the time when Draco would call for him again.

 

 

\--

 

So naïve

To keep holding on to what I want to believe

I can see

But I keep holding on and on and on and on


	5. Love is Not Enough

**The more that we take, the paler we get  
I can't remember what it is we try to forget  
The tile on the floor, so cold it can sting  
In your eyes in a place worth remembering**

 

\--

 

Draco gave a final kick to the nearly lifeless body lying limp on the floor, before tossing a small bottle onto it and walking towards the opposite end of the room.

“Get out of my sight you pathetic excuse for a human being.”

The figure slumped on its side, gripping the bottle like a lifeline. Pulling himself dangerously to his side and taking a long draught from the small brown glass, he moved his limbs carefully and his muscles twitched as the potion flooded his body, enervating his system. Sitting up unsteadily, he turned to stare at his contracted abuser.

Usually Draco left and let him recoup, if even slightly, before he was made to leave. The boy was very confused. With no other communication from the blonde, indeed his back was to him and the door, he moved slowly. Draco watched from the corner of his eye as the form teetered to its feet, clutching the wall as he stumbled out of the room. He risked one last look at the Slytherin, and then disappeared down the halls.

“Stupid Hufflepuff,” Draco mumbled as he reached into a drawer in the large desk.

He pulled out another bottle much the same as the one thrown on his ‘companion’, only slightly taller. Tugging on the cork stopper he placed the bottle to his lips and inhaled deeply, reveling in the spicy scent. Tipping the glass back sent liquid coursing over his tongue, and a nearly immediate sense of warmth flooded his muscles; the tension seeped from his limbs, leaving him feeling more relaxed.

The potion affected his body, cooling his mood and acting in much the same way as alcohol without all those nasty side-effects. It was a special blend of his own; an extra credit assignment for his beloved potions-master. He sat heavily in the chair paired with the large teaching desk, taking another draught from the bottle.

He didn’t like the ‘clients’ that only took from him. The ones that came to him begging, no demanding, that he see them.

“Greedy bastards.”

He much preferred the ‘clients’ that wanted more than just abuse; more than just getting kicked around. He needed something too, and catering to the subs that needed domination and order gave him much more satisfaction.

Opening the cabinet, he looked at the charms hanging on hooks on the inside of the door. His eyes rested on the newest one.

Sometimes he wished he could just say ‘fuck off’ to the stupid sons-of-bitches. Sometimes he did; it only served to increase his allure, but (as he said before) it was what he was there to do, so he did it.

He fingered the brass charm, examining the design: a lion in a cage. Smiling to himself, he remembered the person associated with it. It had been four days…

Draco didn’t have many ‘clients’ that he specifically owned, but they were his favourites. Rules and repercussions reminded him that there was order in his life, and order was something that meant very much to the Malfoy.

Picking up the charm, he pressed his thumb against it and waited.

 

\--

 

Harry yelped as the cord around his neck suddenly started to burn, and his eyes lit up as he realized what is must mean. Hermione noticed her friend jump, his hand flying to his neck, and reached her own hand out to him.

“Harry, are you alright?”

The sudden contact stung and Harry leapt from his seat, books and parchments tumbling from the table.

“Harry!”

Harry backed away, not able to look at her.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m- I’m fine… I just… remembered something.”

“Like what, mate?”

Harry’s gaze flitted between his two friends, trying desperately to come up with something that would keep them at bay.

“There was someone I had to- I’ve got to meet someone.”

“Harry, we’re right in the middle of homework.”

Ron rolled his eyes at Hermione, for once zoning in on the more obvious point.

“Harry, it’s almost ten, where could you possibly need to be?”

The cord around his neck flared again, the burn increasing. He tried to control the flinch that passed over his eyes. He could feel the increase in his heartbeat, and the pit of his stomach grew cold. Suddenly Neville appeared at the table, smiling shyly.

“Harry was supposed to meet me in the library, right Harry?”

Neville glanced up nervously, meeting Harry’s gaze for just a moment and smiled encouragingly.

Harry simply nodded, unable to speak. The sudden panic was constricting his throat.

“I wanted some help on defense techniques. He promised to get to me before the weekend.”

The saner two-thirds of the golden trio relaxed visibly, sitting back down to their essays.

“Don’t stay out too long, we have essays due tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry mate, I’ll let you copy off us.”

“I’m not letting him copy, Ronald.”

“You’ll let me copy, then I’ll let him copy.”

Hermione knew he had her, and the best she could do was roll her eyes at him and huff back into her position at the table. Harry gratefully took advantage of the squabble and slipped away silently, following the quick incline of Neville’s head. Falling into step behind him Harry glanced at his friend, completely unsure how to go about losing him. He honestly didn’t remember setting this ‘date’ with him and if the incessant burning around his neck was any indication, Draco was going to be pissed by the time he finally managed to show up.

Just as he was about to say something to him the burn morphed into a sharp sting, drawing a yelp. The slap from his hand flying to the cord echoed through the hallway they had just entered.

Neville didn’t seem fazed by Harry’s behaviour; he simply smiled and walked steadily, head down.

“First visit back?”

Harry tried to look innocent, confused even (for he was), lifting an eyebrow through the tears the pain brought. Neville’s smile grew slightly, almost amused by Harry antics.

“Don’t worry Harry, I won’t tell anyone your secret. You’d better hurry though, you’re going to be in enough trouble as it is.”

Harry realized they were now at the library, just past halfway to The Room. Still terribly confused as to what was even going on, he paused waiting for… something. Neville didn’t give any implication he expected Harry to follow him, so with a quick glance (receiving an encouraging smile for his troubles) he turned to go, but curiosity stalled his footsteps and he turned back.

“Neville, how did yo-“

Yet another shy smiled followed, “It seems we have some common interests.”

He fingered his collar, a flash of metal catching Harry’s eye. The double entendre settled in thickly. Harry could only blink stupidly at him before Neville turned, effectively ending the conversation. Harry walked slowly away, an unpleasant knot taking over in the pit of his stomach.

 

**

 

By the time Harry made it to the door-way, the cord had singed a ring around his neck. There was a welt where he had been biting the inside of his cheek, and his heart was pounding so hard he was sure it would burst right through his chest. He skidded to a stop in the opening to the room, locking eyes on the blonde head of hair. The head rose slowly, and seemed to bore straight into the brunette’s soul. The breath caught in Harry’s throat, his tongue suddenly thick and immobile.

Draco looked pissed.

“I thought it was agreed that you would come when I called.”

He wanted to respond, but he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Something inside Harry knew that it would be far worse to say nothing at all, but his tongue and jaw refused to cooperate with this knowledge. The most he could muster was a garbled stutter before Draco tried again.

“I said, ‘I thought it was agreed you would come when called’…”

A thick swallow and sheer will broke the lock on Harry’s jaw.

“I’m sorry… I tried…”

Draco shook his head, cutting him off.

“You will not speak. On your knees, center of the room.”

The gruff undertone to his voice sent Harry sprinting to comply with his orders.

“And take off your shirt.”

When Draco turned around Harry was on his knees, hands folded neatly and his head down. Harry’s eyes flitted nervously around the room. He knew he had no idea what to expect, and he privately rejoiced at the tremor quaking the figure. He loved it when they squirmed.

He fell into a lazy circle around his newest victim.

“We have discussed rules, haven’t we Potter?”

Something told Harry not to say anything, and for the first time was able to obey his inner voice. Luckily this was the right choice. Draco peered at the unobtrusive form from the edge of his field of vision, examining it closely. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was actually impressed with the display. Only one visit (having nothing to do with the actual parameters of their ‘relationship’) followed by four days of absolutely no contact whatsoever, not even during class or in the halls; Draco was quite expecting an emotional blubbering mess, begging for forgiveness and promising to follow instructions perfectly ‘the next time’.

Harry was nearly the vision of perfection.

Nearly.

“I asked you a question, slave!”

The final word was punctuated by a crack as Draco’s wand was transfigured, the noise drawing a flinch from the ‘golden boy’.

Normally Harry’s brain was the epitome of discombobulation, barely able to connect two strains of a conversation (particularly under great stress), but he desperately wanted to do this right. Pleasing Draco was the only thing on his mind.

He racked his brain trying to reconcile the only two concrete rules he could discern (not counting posture); do not speak, and answer when addressed. The strain, only visible in his eyes, laboured his breath. Sensing Draco’s impatience, he did the only thing that could possibly make sense at the time. Keeping his gaze to the ground he nodded once.

Again Draco quirked a brow, once more impressed at the display. He was almost hoping for a chance at more punishment. But this was about challenging Harry, not some perverse pleasure Draco derived from dishing it out. (Well, not entirely.)

“Very good. However I’m still going to have to punish you for making me wait.

Draco found himself suddenly staring into green, Harry’s eyes making their way to his own. A plead threatening to tumble from his lips, but no sound came. Draco’s smirk turned almost mischievous. Panic was forgivable this early in the game.

“There will be five strokes,” he continued nonchalantly, as if everything was normal, “you will count each one…”

He caught the quick furrow, saw the panic gaining hold, and finally decided to make something easy for the poor boy.

“…aloud”

The minute relief was visible, and Draco could have chuckled if he thought it didn’t seem irreverent. He stopped behind the kneeling form, brandishing the transfigured switch that was once his wand.

“If you miss one, it’s not my fault.”

There was hardly a breath between the last word and the first thwack. No pause at all for Harry to reconcile the entire affair, and the sudden contact of soft leather sharp on his skin tore a yelp from his throat. Draco would admit he took advantage of Harry’s ineptitude, delighted in his struggle. Harry tried to catch up, missing the second blow.

He managed to croak a dazed, “one!” just moments after the second and before the third.

His shock at the third snap, repeating strikes on now-sensitive flesh, produced a noise some-what between a snarl and a moan. The fourth was quite sharper, jarring him back into logicical, and he finally shouted out a ‘two’.

“What were they teaching you in those muggle schools?”

A fifth thwack brought a strained ‘three’, through gritted teeth and a locked jaw.

“A wizard usually learns to count at an early age.”

Number ‘four’ was coupled with a glare, barely concealed rage building at being abused in such a manner.

“What will it be, Potter? One more, or two?”

He aimed the seventh blow carefully, choosing the reddest blotch on Harry’s back. He earned a sharp gasp and a shuddered sob. He got in another strike, before Harry was able count his final strike.

Draco stepped back, watching the heaving breaths his quarry took. He re-transfigured his wand, pocketing the stick. Closing the distance, he placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders and rubbed gently, soothingly. The panting almost disappeared, replaced by an appreciative moan. Draco was surprised to notice that Harry didn’t get any sort of physical contact at all. Outside of him, that is.

The finger-tips ran further down, nudging along the welts the tip of the switch had left. The gasp and hiss stopped him for just a moment, before returning to his task of touching all of the skin he could see.

The tickle left in his wake caused goose-bumps to crop up on Harry’s flesh; the pants were replaced by a shudder. Before he realized the change Harry felt hands on his front, sliding over his chest and twisting the sensitive flesh of his nipples. The shudder became a quake. The hands traveled further south, pressing more insistently and squeezing on a rapid-growth erection. Harry’s gasp was once more audible. Every inch of him seemed to tingle as breath ghosted over the shell of his ear.

“That wasn’t too terrible, Potter. A little practice is all it will take.”

The words didn’t match the tone, and Harry shivered involuntarily again as the words were replaced by a wet tongue. A sweet moan filled the air. The anger at the discipline melted away, bringing back the desire to please Draco above all else. The words stifled themselves at Harry’s lips, tongue unwilling to move. His fear of being wrong always tripped him up at crucial moments, but he was determined to get rid of it and give himself over to the new center of his life. He felt he would do anything for the blonde.

“How can I serve you, Sir?”

The question was quiet, quite miss-able if Draco had not been so close. It stopped him in his tracks. This was something he didn’t come across often, and a low grin split his features. Every once in a while you would find a real gem, and this one’s name was Harry Potter. Draco was so used to the selfish masochists, in the game for their own twisted pleasure, that he rejoiced at the contrast a true submissive (with full range of benefits) provided.

“How can you serve me?”

Draco wondered if Harry knew what he was getting himself into. The brunette nodded in response.

“I would like to…”

The fingers still traveling over Harry’s now very sensitive skin landed on an already-abused nipple, and turned roughly eliciting a yelp of protest. Harry caught on quickly to his mistake, surprisingly responsive for a first-timer.

“I would like to, SIR.”

The sheer will it took to be brave enough to speak to the blonde was more than Harry ever knew he’d be able to handle, and his heart beat fully in his chest. The air never seemed to be enough, and a fuzziness lingered at the edge of his brain. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last in this state, but he knew he had to do something for-TO his … he didn’t know what to call him. His Draco…

Draco was nothing if not perceptive, and he knew Harry couldn’t take much of anything more (let alone cohesively making an effort at pleasing him) so he decided to play nice; his brand of nice at least. Bringing his lips to Harry’s ear once more he whispered wetly, earning another violent shiver.

“You can just enjoy this for me.”

The lips moved to the cords of muscle on Harry’s neck, effectively distracting him from the spells he cast with his wand; one to remove the rest of their clothing and the next to send ropes slithering along Harry’s skin, knotting themselves intricately around his wrists and ankles. Harry ended up on his chest, face smashed into the floor with his hands and feet tied together tucked under his body in such way to present a most pleasant view for anyone behind him. Draco, for one, quite appreciated it.

Between the ropes teasing his flesh and the delightfully dirty position he found himself in, Harry’s nerves were singing. What little muscle movement was still afforded could only manifest as trembling.

After a moment’s examination Draco chose a final addition: another transfiguration (this time something long ago left in a desk) and he placed a gag gently in Harry’s mouth, securing the spongy ball almost lovingly around his teeth and buckling the leather behind his head

Deciding he, himself, was ready and knowing how much of this was for the pain, Draco took little care in preparing Harry for his entrance. Just enough to elicit more delicious whimpers and tremors, and to make sure there was room without tear (he so despised cleaning up blood). He placed himself in position, holding firm on Harry’s hips. With nothing more at all to say on the matter he shoved in violently, pitching the squashed form forward. He tugged the bound hips back in place, only seating himself further in.

The ball-gag cut off any vocal appreciation, or protest, quite effectively. It was really only there for Harry to bite down on when things became a little too intense, and this feature was used on the second rather forceful shove. Draco took no time being gentle like before, and his own body appreciated the rough TIGHT hot contact. Luckily this was exactly the kind of treatment Harry needed, and with each thrust he bit harder into the spongy material, positive he was going to bite right through it and snap his teeth. The ball never gave way though, and along with the clamp of his jaw each shove tore another scream from his throat.

The rough treatment made Harry feel like he could actually feel something (everything about Draco made him feel as if he could actually feel something) and the more he got the more he loved, and when he felt a hand curve around his own leaking member he could have cried.

Draco himself was balls deep (so to speak) in his endeavour and he was getting very close. He knew he needed to ‘keep the client satisfied’ (again, so to speak), and threw everything into giving Harry the pleasure he required and asked for.

The strokes, the thrusts, the angle, the inability to move, his breath restricted by both the floor and the gag; everything came together for Harry all in one blinding moment of pure bliss. The gag was finally unable to hold back his scream and he seized, his orgasm ripping through his soul. Harry was numbly aware of Draco continuing his rapid pound into his backside, chasing his own release. He lazily registered the pulse of wet and sticky heat as Draco came inside him. It made him feel deliciously dirty, and this only fueled the slow burn in his belly. Harry was sure he could never get tired of this kind of treatment.

Draco’s last shudder went unnoticed as Harry completely blacked-out from the onslaught.

 

**

 

Harry awoke an indeterminable amount of time later, and jumped to his feet surprised to find himself clothed. He was overwhelmingly exhausted, and ached all over. He blindly stumbled to the exit of the room starkly aware of the fact that he was very alone.

**

Making his way finally to collapse into his bed, the events of the evening reeled through his brain and he settled upon a disturbing memory. It was something he’d chosen to ignore until this bleary hour forced him to recognize it.

Neville wore a charm just like his

 

\--

 

**For you to go and take this and smash it apart  
I've gone all this fucking way to wind up back at  
Back at the start **


	6. Every Day is Exactly the Same

**I believe I can see the future

Cause I repeat the same routine

I think I used to have a purpose

But then again, that might have been a dream**

 

 

\--

 

 

Harry spent an inordinate amount of time in the dormitories. An even more ridiculous amount of that time was spent hiding within his own bed-curtains. A number of images burned into his mind’s eye, and he seemed unable to rid himself of their haunt. When he tried to sleep they assaulted his brain, one after another, like a slide-show. So he kept his eyes open. They burned; were rimmed red with exhaustion. When he managed to drag himself from his bed long enough to pass by a mirror, the circles under the red rims made him seem thin, ghostly. His reflection scared him.

 

This was the price he paid for his weekly visit to Draco Malfoy.

 

Paying close attention to his surroundings when he ventured out into the real world, he learned that he was quite lucky to see him more than once or twice a month. It seemed that the Sex God of Slytherin had a veritable harem at his disposal. There were simply too many of them to keep up with. That wasn’t Draco’s fault though. As Harry’d heard so often, it was “what he was there to do.”

 

It prickled at Harry’s skin though, to think of all the boys (or girls?) that his… Draco… fucked while he wasn’t with him. He knew he had absolutely no right to be jealous, or even unhappy with his situation. He had agreed to the terms. He knew the terms before he’d even had a chance to agree to them. And the fact that he felt this way just prickled more. Harry just felt so conflicted and he hated it. He hated himself more than the situation at hand. He KNEW what he was getting himself into, and yet it still hurt to think that Draco was paying attention to more than just him. If he was going to keep it up, he had to suck it up and let it go.

 

And he did.

 

One night a week (for he never knew which it would be) the cord singed at his neck and he dropped whatever he was doing and ran (if he could) down to the dungeons, to the secret room down the hall from the Slytherin common room, ready for whatever his Blonde Angel would have prepared for him.

 

Angel…

 

And, oh what he had prepared for him. The only words Harry could ever have to describe any of it after the fact were, “bloody brilliant”.

 

However, ‘after the fact’ is also where everything crashed light-speed downhill. The full weight of what Harry was giving up settled on his thin shoulders. The over-used silencing charm was the only thing saving him the embarrassment of being seen sobbing into his pillow, tear stained face sticky with his emotions.

 

The five to ten days in between calls were absolute torture to the sinking Gryffindor. While he waited for the burning around his collar he both never wanted it to happen again and prayed it would happen immediately. The only thing saving his school career was the fact that Hermione would NOT let him fail. While the trio studied in the common room, Harry staring miserably into space, she would whisper spells filling his parchment with the required information. Harry, completely oblivious to all of this, went about his daily life. He was an automaton; go to class, hand in papers, watch lesson, repeat.

 

In between classes, the dull buzz of people’s voices roared in the background. There was no time spent in the Great Hall. No time spent in the library. There was no time spent loitering between classes. Harry spent an inordinate amount of time in the dormitories.

 

 

**

 

 

“Harry?”

 

“Go away...”

 

Of course the mumbled reply was not heard, due to the silencing charm, so the intruder on Harry’s privacy had no clue that he was unwanted. Pulling the bed-curtains to the side, the intruder broke the charm long enough to slide into the bed next to the prone figure. A hand reached for the shoulder of his friend, only to have the shoulder violently torn away from his grasp.

 

“Just go away, Neville,” gasped Harry.

 

“Harry… what’s the matter?”

 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

 

Neville reached another hand out for his friend, just grazing the edge of his arm resulting in a flurry of an outburst; Harry scrunched against the headboard, knees curled against his chest and eyes wide with fright trained on the other boy in his bed.

 

“Harry…”

 

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Neville took in the heaving form of the other boy; the tear stains coupled with the pain in his eyes told a very clear story.

 

“Harry, is this about… him?”

 

He didn’t think mentioning “his” name would gain his end, so he stepped around it. Harry didn’t give any sign of an answer. He just stared hard at him, lip trembling. Finally a soft, one-armed shrug accompanied more tears threatening to spill over his lashes. Suddenly Harry could no longer meet Neville’s gaze and hugged his legs closer, looking down, not really seeing anything.

 

This was why Neville never got involved with the Slytherin sexually. His relationship with the blonde was purely about control. He knew that if he ever gave in and asked for anything more physically intimate, he would turn into the mess that his friend was now. Gryffindors were simply too soft-hearted for this sort of confliction.

 

During his musing, Neville was surprised to find an armful of sobbing Gryffindor.

 

“He can, I know he can, he’s done it before!”

 

“He’s done what before, Harry?”

 

The response came through as garbled sobs into his shoulder, and his sleeping shirt was slowly getting soaked from tears. Neville pulled his arms around his friend, grateful that he was now accepting of his contact. The heaves wracking the slighter boy seemed never ceasing, and Neville’s heart broke for his friend.

 

Not knowing that there was anything else he could possibly do for him, he pulled his wand from his back pocket and whispered a spell over the other boy’s head. The figure slackened, immediately dead to the world, and Neville laid him gently down on the pillow. He hoped this spelled sleep would be enough to cool his nerves, but he was afraid of what would happen between the two when Harry woke up. Would he even remember?

 

 

**

 

 

Blinking blearily at the ceiling, Harry’s reality came once more crashing down heavily upon him. Of course he remembered Neville invading his privacy the previous night, and he figured his friend had something to do with the fact that he had actually managed some sleep. He was marginally grateful to the other boy, but Harry had just returned from his most recent rendezvous with the blonde and, just like every other time, his mood had swung swiftly downwards with his return to the real world. He had come to develop a little ritual after his visits, for coping, and his dorm-mate had impeded...

 

Casting a quick ‘tempus’, and re-testing the silence charms on the bed-curtains, Harry decided it was safe to pretend there hadn’t been an interruption. He had only managed to sleep a few hours, and so had a few more left before classes started. Now that he was awake he knew he’d never be able to return, so he figured he might as well go ahead.

 

He shifted on his bed and reached under the mattress, fingers seeking sharp metal. His grazed the very tip of his special knife, silently rejoicing in the contact. He pulled it out and stared at the edge, breathing deeply and carefully, and listened closely to the sounds of the room outside his little zone. He knew no-one would hear anything. No one would have any cause to interrupt him this time, but lack of sleep and emotional stress tend to make one paranoid.

 

Harry leaned back on his pillow, balancing the knife on his stomach so he could more easily remove his sleeping pants. His heart pounded hollowly in his chest, thudding dully in his ears, and he picked the knife back up placing the cool flat of the metal against his thigh.

 

The act suddenly seemed empty and meaningless. He was used to doing this right after his visits, when his emotions were at their peak and swirling around his rib cage and making his brain fuzzy. After the removal a few hours of sleep brought, it all just seemed so unimportant.

 

Sighing heavily, no longer able to even feel stupid over his actions, he placed the knife gently underneath his pillow. Pulling his pants up and rolling over, he miraculously succumbed to sleep once more.

 

 

**

 

Harry woke once more, again only a couple of hours later. He hated how the shift in perception came so easily, fluidly sliding from ashamed of his every action to too tired to feel anything about them and right back into self-loathing for all the time he spent pining away for what he couldn’t have.

 

Now was another moment where he despised himself for giving up so much to the blonde. Draco held such power over him, and no matter what he felt walking into that room he always melted at the slightest look his god gave him.

 

Just thinking about it made him sick. He knew he was going to throw up, but he couldn’t move to go for the waste bin. Nor could he bother to care about it. The only thought repeating in his brain was how cheap he was; bought with a touch.

 

“Bugger it.”

 

He reached for his blade, once again deciding to go through with his ritual. He was sure he only felt so shaky right now because he hadn’t relieved the built up tension coursing through his veins. Steadying his resolve, he slid out of his bottoms once more and leaned back breathing deeply. Squeezing his eyes shut and pushing everything out of his brain, he thought of… nothing; just a black space delving forever into and around him.

 

The metal felt cool in his palm, and he would have smiled at the sensation if he wasn’t forcing himself to be completely blank. A slight tremble still rippled over his skin and he swallowed once, forcing away the very last of his trepidation. Placing the edge of the blade on his skin, he drew a thick line to match the now invisible scars. His eyes having been squeezed tightly shut, he opened them to a blurry view. Tears hovered just on the edge of tracking down his cheeks. Brushing them away, he looked again and ran a finger through the well of crimson trickling down his inner thigh.

 

A quirk twitched his lips, just at the corners, and he breathed again, blinking lightly. Another deliberate positioning of the silver, and he made another line. They didn’t like to be alone, after all. A third, to match the set, and he had a pool of blood smearing over his leg. Dragging his fingertips around in it he drew shapes, watching the cuts clot and begin to scar. Satisfied that he had let out all frustration at… what? He really couldn’t entirely remember what he’d been so upset about. He felt rather blissful, blessedly empty. Not in a vacuous crushing sort of way, just content. Like nothing that bothered him really mattered anymore.

 

He leaned back in his bed, not yet ready to clean up, thinking about a final cat-nap before breakfast. He was simply letting the subtle feeling of relaxation seep through his pores, when something happened that NEVER happened. The cord around his neck burned a white hot ring around his throat.

 

The blood drained from his face. The implications of such a simple occurrence were not lost on the Golden Boy. He knew exactly what was likely to happen. He just didn’t know which was worse: ignoring his call, or showing up with fresh scars on his thighs. No, not HIS thighs. DRACO’S thighs.

 

“Fuck.”

 

 

\--

 

 

**I can’t remember how this got started

Oh, but I can tell you exactly how it will end**


	7. With Teeth

**Wave good bye

To what you were

The rules have changed, the lines begin to blur**

 

 

\--

 

 

Harry ran through the hall ways and down stairs and through the dungeons, moving as quickly as he could force himself through the dead weight in his chest.

 

At the time, he’d decided ignoring Draco would have been worse.

 

Now he wasn’t so sure.

 

He hesitated in the hall, dreading seeing the blonde’s face.

 

 

*

 

 

Draco sat on the teaching desk, waiting for his charge. Never, in his entire career at Hogwarts, had he ever felt such joy looking forward to a meeting. He glanced at a clock, wondering if he just felt like Harry was taking forever. He frowned when he realized Harry should have been able to run fast enough to get to him sooner. Pushing his thumb to the charm in his fingers once more, he jumped at a yelp echoing just outside the door to his classroom.

 

He looked up at the portal just as the door nudged open a little more, and stared wide-eyed into his opposite’s green.

 

“Harry.”

 

The brunette cleared his throat nervously.

 

“Sir…”

 

Draco narrowed his eyes at the boy in his doorway. Something was… off.

 

His gaze flicked deliberately to the center of the room; Harry’s unofficial assigned seat. A steadying breath preceded the boy’s compliance with the unvoiced command.

 

Just as Harry could read Draco’s thoughts, Draco could read Harry’s. He knew. He didn’t know what he knew, but he knew.

 

“Harry, I called you here because I wanted to give you some orders for the day.”

 

Harry flinched when Draco hopped off the desk and started circling him.

 

This didn’t go unnoticed by ice blue eyes, and Draco wondered just WHAT had made Harry so nervous around him. He really had only wanted to spice things up. Harry was just too good at being a prime submissive. Draco was itching for opportunities for cause and effect, punishment and reward, but there had been a little too much reward and not enough punishment. The sight before him now, however, put all thoughts of complicated schemes out of his head. He got the feeling that his need to reprimand was going to be filled anyway, but it gave him an uneasiness in his stomach.

 

Stooping down so he was mostly level with green, he forced a connected gaze. Looking into Harry’s eyes he forced Harry to tell him what was wrong.

 

And he saw pain.

 

And fear.

 

“Harry, you’ve been bad.”

 

This caused another swallow, another diverted gaze. The quake spreading through Harry’s form drew Draco’s attention, and he desperately wanted to know what Harry had done. He knew he’d never get words out of him, though. He flicked his gaze over the entire image: Harry’d clearly not had enough time to redress from bed before sprinting to the dungeons. He was still in sleep socks, his bare torso shivered in the cool air, and his loose bottoms bunched tight around his hips where he was bent at the knees in his submissive position.

 

This position was to be Harry’s downfall.

 

The pants bunching around his thighs showed off an odd pattern of colour that seemed too out of place to the astute blonde. Too red and… crusted. He recognized the shade and texture because he so hated to clean the stuff up.

 

Draco’s narrowed gaze and sharp tone told Harry that he was doomed.

 

“Stand up, against the wall. And get those trousers off!”

 

Knowing what he was NOT getting, he left his boxers on as he slowly moved to comply. He jumped at the sharp snap behind him.

 

“Move!”

 

Pressing himself against the wall, his eyes slipped closed and he desperately held back tears. Trust and safety had long since been an accepted factor in this… relationship; but he still found himself unable to cry in front of his master. Only in the safety of his own private bed curtains had he let tears fall, but he so desperately wanted to let go now.

 

Harry felt the presence of his Draco (could he still call him that?) almost against him. He held his breath, muscles tense. A finger trailed down his chest over his sensitive hip and down to the edge of his boxer leg. The finger gently lifted the material just up and out of the way to see three well formed very angry red scars against the once thought to be clean flesh.

 

Draco knelt easily, taking in the patterns on the thigh in his hand. He ran a finger over each fresh scar, noticing finally the past marks. He was furious with himself for not seeing them before. It was his fault Harry had taken this so far.

 

Each line was beautifully uniform, no lines touching any others. Parallel marks of emotions, and voids. Draco looked up into watery open eyes. Fear emanated from the brunette. Harry saw nothing but a stony face. He had no clue what to expect from the blonde.

 

Draco stood again, staring closely into green orbs trying to discern every little piece of information. Overwhelming pain seemed to be the overriding emotion swirling in Harry’s depths. He seemed to be saying ‘you caused this pain, Draco,’ but he wasn’t ready to accept that much responsibility for his involvement with the brunette.

 

Narrowed gaze was the only warning before a hand was drawn back, and brought hard across Harry’s cheek. The wind was knocked out of him in surprise. His tongue ached where he had bitten it, and the shock of the impact on his face burned red. Unable to move back, to resume his position against the wall, he stayed where the impact left him, leaned to the side and looking away.

 

It was easier to look away.

 

He wouldn’t have it easy.

 

“Look at me.”

 

The voice dripped with venom.

 

Slowly, shakily, Harry dragged his gaze back to meet blue. His lip trembled, no longer able to see clearly for the blur of tears settling on his lashes. Draco had never been this rough with him before. Harry had never done anything to warrant it. He had never had to be taught a lesson over anything.

 

“You have broken a rule.”

 

The word ‘rule’ was strongly stressed to imply the separation between general rules and BIG rules. Harry had in fact broken a real rule; One of the very few set out in the beginning of their relationship.

 

Harry felt sick.

 

“This body is mine. I can do whatever I want with it, and you are not to do anything to it against my wishes. You have damaged my property. In the civilized world I could have you arrested.”

 

Harry shook under the harsh glare, and felt even more like crying. He wished he could just get a punishment and let off, let everyone forget anything ever happened. Glamour away the scars and never do it again. Hell, he was even thinking about throwing away his knife. He wanted to ask what it would take, but knew speaking would just further the rage.

 

“I won’t have you arrested, but you will pay for the damages.”

 

A glimmer of hope wiggled inside Harry’s chest.

 

“Time off.”

 

Harry blinked back his puzzlement. What the hell did ‘time off’ mean?

 

Inside, Draco was shaking. He wanted to damage Harry physically. He wanted to break him inside for doing this to him. He didn’t realize something seemingly so trivial, something he officially didn’t object to, would enrage him so much.

 

He knew, though, that Harry was already broken, and he didn’t want to touch him. At the moment he felt sick, and he told him as much.

 

“You sicken me.”

 

The venom spat at him made Harry jump.

 

“I don’t want to touch you until these are healed. And you do not get magic. I don’t even want to see you until these scars only exist because you remember them.”

 

Harry was about to crack; he didn’t think he’d make it much longer before he broke down sobbing. To his surprise, Draco dropped once more to his knees, holding Harry’s legs gently. A choked sob broke free from Harry’s throat and he looked up at the ceiling, simultaneously longing for contact and praying for Draco to just go away.

 

One last final trace with his fingertips, blood all but dried, and a gentle kiss was placed to the three angry wounds. The muffled sobs rattling in Harry chest threatened to break forth, and he longingly looked down at the blonde watching him slowly get back to his feet. Draco had one final thing to say before ignoring his favourite client.

 

“And Harry, you had better hope these scars aren’t permanent.”

 

As the blonde left the room in a swirl of rage and hurt cleverly concealed as something else, Harry slid down the wall, chest heaving with silent desperate cries.

 

 

\--

 

 

**I cannot go through this again**


	8. Only

**I'm becoming less defined, as days go by

Fading away, well you might say I'm losing focus

Kinda drifting into the abstract in terms of how I see myself**

 

 

\--

 

 

Needless to say, Harry did not go to classes that day. He simply lay within his bed curtains, dead to the world. Neville did try once in the evening to see if he was doing alright, but got a singed hand in the process. In his desperate need to officially be alone, Harry had unintentionally charmed his linens to protect him from any unwanted advances. This was for the best, for if anyone had seen the sticky tear tracks on his face or the constant sense of ‘I’m going to throw up’ they would have asked questions. And questions were something Harry could not cope with right now.

 

So instead he lay petrified, not even bothering to get under his blankets; he simply stared off into space, hardly able to conjure a coherent thought. Dealing with his feelings was even too much for him to handle.

 

Harry had shut down.

 

 

**

 

 

Draco had shut down, too; in his own special way.

 

 

**

 

Placing a heel to the chest of the form before him, he leaned into the body, crushing the torso with more and more glee. At least, as close to glee as he could get at the moment.

 

In a pathetic attempt at dealing with his own feelings, Draco had called for some ‘entertainment’. Of course, it was no match for what he REALLY wanted and it just made him even more furious. He both wanted to HURT something, and just touch his Harry.

 

And just thinking of him as ‘his Harry’ made him even angrier. Growing attached to his subjects was not something he did. And then to go and fall for someone who was too weak to handle his own emotions…

 

He wanted to spit.

 

So he did; Right on the face of the younger boy at (or rather below) his feet.

 

Draco instantly felt guilty; guilty for taking out his own frustrations on someone who had absolutely nothing to do with him. He was no better than a common school-yard bully, beating up everyone smaller than him.

 

He no longer felt like spitting. He felt sick to his stomach. His heart wasn’t in dishing out pain anymore. The thought that he was losing himself forced a flush of anger through his veins once more, and he kicked hard with his other foot knowing he did not mistake the sickening crunch that signified a rib cracking. A grim smile said he wasn’t all that broken up about it, but a stab of regret hit him square in the chest when he looked down to see his subject actually crying.

 

Not really knowing how to handle an emotion as foreign as sadness, he fixed his visage into a stony glare and stepped down and away from the boy. A deep ‘relaxing’ breath did nothing to calm him and all he wanted was Harry, even if it was to beat him up as badly as he was doing to this poor kid.

 

“Fuck!”

 

Taking out his wand from his back pocket he swished and flicked jerkily, fixing the rib, and stooped down to reach for the terrified kid’s neck. As his fingers locked on the charm that he used to call his unsuspecting school mate, he felt another stab of guilt. Guilt that he wasn’t reaching around his neck to throttle him? Or guilt that he just picked someone at random because calling via charm was more convenient that waiting? His charms were never meant for callous abuse. If they were, they would not be called. And yet he abused his own system to serve his own cheap desires.

 

Firmly grasping the charm, he yanked it away from the body and it burst into flames. Instantly dying away into ashes, it fell to the floor never to be seen again. Tear stained eyes stared widely at him, unable to move for fear of provoking more wrath.

 

Draco put his head in his hands, drawing a ragged breath. He instantly regretted everything. Malfoys do not lose control and he had lost everything in front of this boy. The only thing he could do was Obliviate.

 

And so he did. He Obliviated the boy and Imperiused him back to his dorm. There was no way he was going to let anybody remember seeing him lose control like that.

 

He didn’t feel any better. In fact, he felt worse. He kicked a chair out of his way, stalking steadily back to his desk. Opening his cabinet door, where he kept all of his charms, he stared hard at them. He picked one up, examining the design. He gave another deep rooted sigh, and he closed his hand around it; the metal burst into a flame. Releasing his hold, the ashes fluttered to the ground.

 

He closed his eyes, leaning his head in his hands once more with his elbows at his knees. One swallow to pluck up the courage, and he picked up one more. Another burst of flame, another flutter of ashes. Each charm he picked up met its fate quickly. He reached the end of his line of charms and he stared hard at the last one, unable to pick it up. He could make out the lion design, glinting in the poor classroom light.

 

 

**

 

 

Neville gasped as the charm around his neck burned bright hot for a brief moment. He looked down to find his cloak dusted with ashes. He fingered his throat gently, the heat still niggling at his skin. He knew this had something to do with the still silent Harry. He didn’t know which he felt more: sorrow at losing his one night a month of control, or happiness that maybe, just maybe, his friend could finally be happy. It all depended on whether or not Draco’s actions were motivated by the right choices.

 

 

**

 

 

Harry felt the charm against his neck glowing warm against his throat. Closing his eyes, he made the first move he’d made in what felt like ages: fingers gliding against the cord around his neck, he sat up. Taking a deep steadying breath he reached behind his head, lightly touching the knot holding the trinket in place. He toyed in his mind with the repercussions of removing the artifact. The metal burned a little brighter and he swallowed hard, trying to force down the last of the unpleasant emotions flitting around his brain.

 

He knew he couldn’t just stay where he was forever, wallowing in self-pity and wishing every detail of his life was different. He had to throw away the only very physical reminder of the closest he ever got to true happiness, and move on with his life.

 

This task, however, was of course very impossible given the fact that just touching the knot was unachievable. Not because he couldn’t bring himself to undo it, but because his fingers physically would not touch it. It seemed Draco had placed a charm on the cord that would keep it around Harry’s neck.

 

He squeezed his eyes painfully closed and he bit his lip hard. He was staving off the irrational breakdown that half of his brain was aware was about to happen. The mild pain of his teeth digging into his skin was not nearly enough of a distraction, and his hands flew to his arms. His nails dug not quite painfully enough into his skin and pulled enough to try and draw blood. Of course this didn’t work; his nails weren’t long enough. He pushed harder before ripping them away and placing his fingers to his temples, cradling his head in his hands. He began to rock back and forth frantically. Soft tears fell silently down his nose onto his knees, and he jumped in a flurry of desperation tearing away the curtains. Thankfully there was no one else in the dormitory at the time, or else Harry would have had a lot to answer for. As it was, whoever came next to the rooms and found the charred remains of all of the bedding was sure to have some questions anyhow.

 

Those questions would partially be answered because that person (who could only be Neville) would find Harry asleep, passed out in the middle of the floor with an empty brown bottle next to his head. After pacing around the room and throwing random hexes at everything he saw with only one thought on his mind (that being the ever increasing burn around his neck) Harry had dropped to his knees at his trunk searching for anything to soothe the hysteria biting at his insides, the pain he felt with each breath, and his hands landed on a leftover bottle of Dreamless Sleep. The bottle was left over from a time long before, when his nightmares were so bad it was impossible to sleep at all. It seemed those nightmares had transferred to his waking life, and the only way to get away from it all was to force himself into oblivion and away from the ring of fire on his throat.

 

 

**

 

 

And of course this meant that no one answered Draco’s call.

 

You would think this would just serve to make him more furious than he was before.

 

But no; the result was to find one blonde youth, hopelessly lost and hopelessly confused, a heap on the desk at which he sat. His head rested atop his folded arms and one could almost hear his sobs, honest sounds of open defeat. Defeat because he knew why no one was answering. He knew that he couldn’t implicitly display how he truly felt for someone, let alone Harry, and he had played his role so well that he drove him away.

 

Looking inside hurt and all he wanted (besides Harry back on his knees in the middle of the room) was for it to all just go away. He didn’t have any Dreamless Sleep however, for he surely would have used it, so he did the only thing he could do. He fingered the charm, touching the most he could of His Harry.

 

 

\--

 

 

**Now I'm somewhere I am not supposed to be

And I can see things I know I really shouldn't see

And now I know why now, and now I know why

Things aren't as pretty, on the inside**


	9. Getting Smaller

**Getting a little erratic here

And I don’t know who to trust

I guess they got a way of reading my mind

I guess I gotta adjust

I got my arms they flip flop flip flop flip

I got my head on a spring

Well I thought I got you on my side

I haven’t got fucking anything**

 

 

\--

 

 

Harry’s eyes snapped open to stare at the deep burgundy adorning his ceiling. He didn’t remember anything he’d done to the room and its dressings the previous night, but that was all well and good because the person who found him (who was indeed Neville) had fixed everything and set him back in his bed; to preserve his dignity the boy had told himself.

 

Due to the potion Harry’d consumed his sleep left him feeling incredibly well rested, and it took him a few minutes to realize why he had a deep unsettling pit in the center of his stomach. The burn around his neck alerted him to his memories. Sadly, rather than assume it meant the obvious, that Draco was calling him, his mind turned it into another sick game of the blonde’s. Draco was simply hurting him to hurt him; spiting him for being so weak, and unable to comply with the most basic of rules.

 

This skewed perception of reality brought back a level of the desperation and panic from earlier in the evening. The pain of the rebuke by the blonde was gnawing at his insides, and he was sure that he couldn’t handle anymore. The idea that he shouldn’t miss too much of his classes was the only thing keeping him from grabbing another Dreamless Sleep, but he had to do something to get the waves of despair and pain, sharp like knives digging at his sides, to go away.

 

Digging around once more through his trunk, he thought on his lost opportunities with the blonde. That he had turned so quickly against him brought stinging tears to his eyes again. He went from showing his affection (in the sick and twisted way that Harry needed) to deliberately twisting the knife. The knife that Harry so desperately needed, but refused to use. Even with this apparent betrayal, he still felt some semblance of duty to him.

 

This didn’t change his need to be numb again, though. The numbness didn’t hurt nearly as much as the pain all of this had caused, and it would be a welcome distraction from everything. At least with the numbness he didn’t care; he needed to not care. Everything he found in his trunk was either too much or not enough: Distant reminders of a lighter past, even more distant reminders of things he had lost, sharp objects he’d newly vowed never to use again, and potions that were simply useless.

 

He drug himself into a standing position, pulling himself into the bathroom where he was able to lock the door against any intruders and leaned heavily on the sink, willing his breath to just stop. He distantly remembered overhearing girls talk about emotional breakdowns and how to deal with them. He filled the sink basin with cold water, hoping it wasn’t just a schoolgirl’s tale. Staring at the water, wondering briefly if he was going mad (for it certainly seemed as such), he took the deepest breath he could manage and plunged his face into the cool relief.

 

‘Cool’ and ‘relief’ weren’t the best words Harry could describe for the freezing water hitting his face. It was abrupt and violent and it was wonderful. It stung and sunk deep into his bones chilling any intense emotions he was feeling. It took all he could to concentrate on the water. He wanted to gasp for breath at the temperature, but the fact that he couldn’t made him calm just slightly. Before long he felt he finally could breathe on his own.

 

Pulling his face from the basin, he looked into the mirror. His eyes were half closed, staring dully back from his reflection. Things seemed just clear enough that he no longer felt like screaming. He placed his hands at the side of the porcelain and slid down to the floor, letting go just enough to fall backwards with a muffled thud, and stared blearily up at the ceiling. He could breathe, and he couldn’t think, and it was enough for him.

 

 

**

 

 

On the other side of the castle, Draco had never made it to his rooms. He had managed to make it to sleep, however. And he still cradled the charm in his hands, rubbing possessive circles on it in his dreams. His mind was so desperate for reconciliation that it conjured images of ‘happily-ever-after’ to appease the boy’s fragile state.

 

The sun rose over the castle, and he slowly blinked himself awake hours later than he was used to. He cursed as he realized he had next to no time to get himself ready for his classes, but there was no way he was going to cut out of his obligations and simply not go.

 

He wrapped the charm around his wrist, fashioning it into a sort of make-shift bracelet. He fingered his wand contemplating a cleaning charm before deciding he simply couldn’t do without a real shower, hoping it would at least relax his tension at least temporarily. He cast a water repelling charm on his new piece of jewelry before running (in a manner quite unbecoming his surname) back to his chambers to wash and dress. He had to at least pretend to be ready to face the day.

 

 

**

 

 

Harry managed his way into his first class of the day without being late, which was a wonderful thing considering it was potions. He slumped to the back of the class and fell into a chair, not caring who sat next to him.

 

Draco ran in only moments before he would have been considered late, and Snape raised a brow as he flung himself haphazardly into a seat. The blonde was currently the opposite of his normally on time- fully coifed- and not at all breathless-self, and thankfully his teacher chose to overlook rather than question.

 

Both boys ignored each other’s presence, but not out of spite. Each was simply absorbed with his insides. Draco applied himself to completing the task set forth, a new potion, with all his stamina. Anything to keep his marks up and forget his problems while in class. Harry dully listened to the lecture, mentally preparing for actually doing some schoolwork.

 

Something in the lecture caught his attention, though, and he looked down in his book on impulse, and saw something that made his brain click.

 

They were making a modified pain potion. Something gentle that eased the heart as well as the muscles.

 

Never having been much good at potions he was unused to the sudden flash of brilliance that surged through him. He could modify a potion, and make something to suit his needs. He wouldn’t be breaking any rules (rules that mattered, anyhow) and he would still be able to deal with the pain.

 

*

 

Knowing that His Harry was sitting far behind him forced Draco to sneak a glance towards the back, just to see if he could figure out why he was ignoring his call. He saw something that puzzled him. He saw Harry going about his work rather animatedly, poring over his text and adding ingredients. Draco was somehow hoping that something was wrong with him, that he was beyond reproach after their last interaction. It had certainly been long enough since he’d even seen him in the halls, let alone in a classroom. He wasn’t sure what to make of what he saw and it bothered him, distracting him from his work.

 

Being that this seeming turn of events was consuming his attentions, it was a miracle that there wasn’t an explosion in first-block Potions that day. There was, however, a first. Draco Malfoy failed his potion. It turned a faintly sick shade of green, bubbling a sporadic cough of smoke instead of the expected pale pinkish orange. This of course held the rapt attention of just about everybody in the class, and while Severus Snape leaned over a very red Draco Malfoy, nobody noticed the boy in the back of the class gently stirring the lavender liquid that sat in his cauldron.

 

 

**

 

 

Thankfully, as it was honestly his first ever fail in the class, Draco managed to escape a detention. He also somehow managed to escape a complete zero on the assignment, furiously promising some sort of extra credit or makeup test or SOMETHING. With everything falling down around his ears the way it was, he didn’t think he could handle academic collapse as well.

 

It left him free to think on the sight that forced his failure: Harry sitting in the back of the class, actually enjoying a Potions assignment. The idea that Harry could have just gotten over everything so quickly after Draco had broken down so badly, over something that the brunette had done himself… Well it was enough to make Draco want to spit. And regret destroying his charms. If only for the fact that he was convinced he’d made a mistake in letting his emotions get the better of him. He was supposed to be the one in control. He was hardly supposed to even be enjoying his encounters on a personal level, and he let one rise above all the others, and now nobody got anything.

 

Nobody got anything, and he got nothing.

 

He didn’t know what he was going to do.

 

 

**

 

 

Harry was afraid.

 

He stared at the lavender potion in his clear dram bottle, and weighed his options. On one hand, he hurt. Merlin, he hurt so much, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. Draco hated him, tormented him even. His friends didn’t care about him, let alone understand what he was experiencing. He’d lost all reason to get up in the morning, let alone continue on to fight that stupid fucking mad-man.

 

He hurt so much, and he’d give anything to have the numbness back. There was a time when he hated the glass box in his chest with a passion. The glass box that just sat there, holding tight his emotions and cutting off his ability to feel anything. He had wanted nothing more than to take a hammer and smash it into a billion tiny pieces and sift through the wreckage to pick up the broken pieces of his heart and feel even the pain if nothing else.

 

And now he’d give anything to have the box back again because this pain, THIS particular pain, hurt so much. It took away all ability to care about anything but what was right in front of him. Or rather, what was no longer in front of him. He’d had the one thing that had ever even come close to making him happy, and now that one thing was further from his grasp than before he knew it existed.

 

And it had to stop.

 

He knew that if he didn’t get rid of it he would go mad.

 

As if he wasn’t already.

 

Staring at the cork in the tiny bottle he slowly tightened his fingers around it and pulled it loose, smelling the soft fruity fragrance of his creation. He had no way of knowing if it was right for he’d totally fudged the recipe, combining parts of different potions from his textbook. He didn’t know how it would taste, or what colour it was supposed to be. He didn’t know if it would even work.

 

He only knew that the worst thing that could happen would be that he’d poison himself and he’d die.

 

And would that really be so bad?

 

At least then he wouldn’t hurt so much.

 

He tried to think about what would happen if he didn’t take it. He got as far as ‘the pain would never stop’, and just that simple thought alone was enough to freeze his breath making him unable to swallow with the panic that so quickly consumed him. He closed his eyes briefly screwing up his courage.

 

He had a fleeting fear that if he started this and it worked that he’d never be able to go back, but the room had started closing in on him. He raised a quick prayer that this would be just what he needed, and placed the bottle to his lips.

 

One last mourn for what he lost with his Angel (for he still was, and always would be, his Angel) and he swallowed his experiment. The pleasant sugary taste was the last thing he registered before everything melted away.

 

 

\--

 

 

I’m getting smaller

And smaller and smaller

And I have nothing to say

It’s all been taken away

I just behave and obey

I’m afraid I am starting to fade away


	10. Sunspots

**I feel it coming and I've gotta get out of its way

I hear it calling and I come cause I can't disobey

I should not listen and I shouldn't believe

But I do, yes I do**

 

 

\--

 

 

Staring ahead, missing an entire night’s sleep, and not caring…

 

This was Harry Potter.

 

If he hadn’t been under the influence of an experimental (and VERY strong) potion, the unease in his heart would have motivated him to do something.

 

But he was.

 

So he didn’t.

 

 

**

 

 

At the same time that Harry Potter was staring, unseeing eyes wide and glassy, into a far distant oblivion, Draco Malfoy was staring into his mirror. His eyes sought out his own gaze, searching for anything that told him he was still himself. His behaviour over the past few months was absolutely inexcusable, and after the disastrous potions incident earlier in the day he was furious with himself. To think he’d let some… CLIENT get the best of his control was enough to make him want revenge.

 

He figured, however, that the best course of action was to completely avoid anything Potter related. He was going to restart his practice; build fresh from the ashes (quite literally) and offer his services again. Whoever wanted him, he was their’s. He only knew this would work because there was no way His Harry, no POTTER, wanted him any longer. If he wanted him, he wouldn’t stare so vacantly past him.

 

So in his course to comply with ridding himself of it all and starting anew, he stormed composedly (a dichotomy, but possible) down the halls towards his ‘office’. Standing in the doorway, he sneered at all the white that bombarded his senses.

 

Much too practical, and much too clean; it reminded him sickeningly of everything he’d done to His Harry… That bastard… in his room.

 

He closed his eyes, and concentrated through the knot he conveniently ignored in his chest. He lifted his wand, swished it three times, and opened his eyes again. Before him stood a completely new room. Comforters, pillows, and draperies littered the floors, and the colouring turned much darker. The one thing he kept the same was his desk. He could never get rid of his desk. He conveniently ignored the memory of his first night with His… That boy.

 

He also conveniently ignored the fact that he forgot to get rid of His Harry’s charm. It lay snugly against the inside of his wrist, water repellant charm firmly in place. Never would he worry over it getting wet and ruined. Never would he worry over it being lost. Not that he cared…

 

Walking over to his desk, sitting lightly in his chair, he opened drawers and cabinets. He was satisfied to find that all items were still in their places. He lingered over the door with the hooks, wondering if he would ever build up his base again. Would he have to go and apologize? Offer new charms?

 

Then he remembered who he was.

 

He was Draco fucking Malfoy.

 

They would come to him.

 

 

**

 

 

Bliss.

 

Bliss would be what he felt if he could feel.

 

Instead of bliss it was actually more of a sedate, complacent sort of numbness. He was perfectly content, because he just didn’t care.

 

The weight in his chest was gone, though the warm glow was never present. The twisting in his gut was a pale memory, though the butterflies were absent. Compared to the agony he felt he was perfectly at peace, completely unaware of the fact that he didn’t feel good either. He just didn’t… and it was alright.

 

Sure any movements he attempted were sluggish and dragged out. If he wanted to stand, he simply wouldn’t. In fact, the bathroom floor was quite comfortable. It was cold and hard against his back. Not that he could really feel the temperature, or even the texture. Not that he cared.

 

In all honesty the absence of anything substantial was much preferred to the sharp pain. In this dull haze he couldn’t even remember it. Without the context he couldn’t remember pleasure either, and that was perfectly okay.

 

What had he been thinking, to expect he could go through life the way he had been trying. Why had it taken him so bloody long to get around to making this potion?

 

Could he make another batch?

 

Did it matter?

 

The bathroom floor was so nice.

 

Or rather, the bathroom floor was so not bad.

 

And that was enough.

 

 

**

 

 

He really shouldn’t have worried. He should have known it would be so easy to jump right back into the swing of things. He was Draco fucking Malfoy. He knew what he was doing.

 

All it took was a casual position: in a chair, book in lap, not paying attention but not looking lost in thought... He was completely approachable, but completely self sufficient. Why, it was only natural that some poor soul reached out tentatively and touched him gently on the shoulder.

 

And yes, that poor soul deserved the glare that was settled upon them, for no one touches Draco fucking Malfoy without permission.

 

A pale eyebrow decorating the glare and the perfunctory ‘can I help you?’ is all it takes, and he’s got them in the palm of their hand.

 

 

**

 

 

A distant memory of a sensation tugged at his insides, but he couldn’t place where it came from or even what it was. His fingers twitched with some buried desire to move from his position; he was still on his back on the bathroom floor. He didn’t make it far in his thought to move before giving up. Was there a point? He was perfectly fine where he was.

 

 

**

 

 

“I- I heard you had some free time, Draco…”

 

Her eyes were downcast, not daring to look into his own. She was smart. She remembered.

 

“And where would you have heard that?”

 

“I’ve got my sources.”

 

Fucking Slytherins.

 

“And what would you propose I do to fill my time?”

 

The icy tone was definitely not lost on the girl standing primly above him. He noted the soft tremble to her lip, and the nervous twitch in her right fingertips.

 

“I’m sorry, Draco. I… needed some help.”

 

This girl was a friend of his. He knew what sort of help she needed, and he wasn’t sure if he could entirely comply with what he knew she was about to ask for. He looked her over, sensing what was probably wrong. He couldn’t hurt her.

 

“You know what I do…”

 

“I know, Draco… Just this once?”

 

Instead of answering, he rose, discarding his book. Moving towards the portrait, he felt her soft fingertips on his wrist, brushing against His charm. He stiffened, turning a muted stare on her.

 

“Could we…” She glanced back to where she knew his room to be, “Please?”

 

Stony stare met watery depths. He couldn’t move on this one.

 

“No. But I’ve changed things up, you might like it.”

 

 

**

 

 

Through his murky haze, his numbed state of mind, he felt a sharp tug in the direct center of his chest. It surprised him so much that he managed a muffled croak. Quite an achievement considering he had no will to speak. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, the sensation of surprise leaving just as suddenly. Seconds later he all but forgot it happened.

 

 

**

 

 

The door clicked shut behind him, a gentle locking spell warming the wood for a moment. The girl stood still, looking around with an unreadable expression clouding her eyes. Finally she turned towards him, careful not to meet his gaze.

 

“I like it.”

 

It was soft, gentle, inconsequential.

 

“I’m glad.”

 

A silence stretched between them, before:

 

“You know what I do…”

 

“You already asked that.”

 

“I need to be sure you understand.”

 

“I understand, Draco…”

 

He stepped towards her, finger tracing her jaw, pulling her gaze up. He knew what she wanted, but she needed to say it. He needed to hear it.

 

Their gazes met, and she understood.

 

“Make me feel again.”

 

A faint smile twitched at the corners of his lips, and he was still for just long enough to savour a deep breath in. Then he slid his hand to her throat and slammed her back against the wall next to the door.

 

Her gasp, as much from surprise as from the pain, echoed through the room before the look in his eye silenced her. He turned so completely feral in the blink of an eye, and while she knew she was in control, his demeanor scared her. She shut her eyes, lest the tears start falling, and bit her lip as his mouth descended on her neck. He wasn’t nipping gently, but biting and sucking in such a way there was no doubt that abused and raw flesh would be left behind.

 

It was exactly what she needed; the intensity of his actions and the strength of his hold. She could feel all of it, and it made her want to cry with relief. The shocks of sensation coursing through her skin sparked at each touch, and she hardly acknowledged her school shirt opened, hanging loose around her frame. She wasn’t caught up in the passion and she knew better than to think Draco was either. His job was clear: hurt her. Give her something to feel, and maybe let her cry about it. No words were needed for this job. No intricate thought out steps. Just touch, and hold. And if he made her scream, that wasn’t really here nor there.

 

 

**

 

 

He still couldn’t feel anything.

 

But if he could, it would be the gentlest sort of sensation; right in the middle of his chest. A sort of a shadow of a sensation, really. Not even a true feeling. He would have wondered what it was or where it came from, if only he could bother to care to try.

 

 

**

 

 

She was on her back, reclining on some of the newly conjured throws decorating the room. Her eyes were shut tight and his hands were dragging sharp nails down her torso, enlivening her nerves. This exercise was as much for him as it was for her. His first client since He’d left him. He was testing his ability to immerse himself in his work, and he couldn’t get his head into it. Closing his eyes didn’t work, because all he could see was Harry, and keeping them open didn’t work because she wasn’t Harry.

 

Biting his tongue, he forced the boy from his mind, focusing completely on the girl beneath his hands. He conjured rope and an eyebolt. Her hands were stretched far above her head and attached to the floor, and her eyes snapped open. She had not been expecting this turn. Her stare unnerved him, so unlike His Harry’s, and moved his hand over her eyes. A blindfold appeared beneath his palm, wrapped around her head.

 

Her shaking grew at the inability to gauge her surroundings, but she never said a word. Her sharp pants punctuated the air, and she swallowed any whines or sobs that may have threatened their way out. She simply lay where she was, and took what was given to her. Only when the hands fell to her hips, spreading her thighs, did she let out a squeak. Not of protest, less of surprise, more of fear; but it was welcome. The contrast of gentle fingertips with the sharp bite of rope… she was feeling.

 

Draco methodically pulled her body close to his, thighs bent and spread wide. He ignored her hiss of pain as her arms stretched tighter, and with a single hand fumbled apart his own fastenings. He was getting nothing out of this (not even the satisfaction that he was serving a client well) and he wanted it done and over with. He was grateful to help a friend, honestly he was, but he just wanted to go to his rooms to be alone.

 

In the meantime, he had to focus on his task.

 

Finally reaching into his trousers, clinking his belt rather obviously, he surreptitiously massaged his own length, careful not to let her know. He went from semi-turgid to hard enough with just a few quick strokes. Luckily the girl was too focused on the fact that she’d not given explicit permission for a fucking and her quakes were teeth-chattering. But still she didn’t protest. She never protests. She’s got what’s coming to her and she needs it.

 

So when Draco laid his arm across her chest, forcefully holding her down as he lined himself up, she didn’t say a word. She simply tensed, waiting for it. Pausing, almost delighting in her panting, he let her worry over what exactly was going to happen before shoving forward. He didn’t bother to guide himself in. He knew it hurt more that way.

 

She cried out at the intrusion and bit her lip hard. She wasn’t given the chance to adjust; he pulled back almost immediately and slammed in again, never stopping.

 

The sensations: bruising, full, hasty… it was everything she needed, and she couldn’t hold back her tears soaking the cloth against her eyes. He shoved into her over and over with tarnishing force, and she knew something had to be broken inside because she felt broken.

 

But at least she could feel.

 

Draco stretched his hand around her throat once more eliciting a strangled gasp, and he pressed down, holding off her air. He thrust harder, hitting something deep inside that lit fire down her nerve-endings. She arched against him as best as his weight on top of her would allow, but with the hand on her throat she was unable to make any noise beyond an ugly choked off groan.

 

Draco balanced on a shaky arm, putting everything he had into finishing. Sure it felt good, and he only ever truly felt at home when on top of somebody, but that was before His Harry.

 

Dammit, he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him. Least of all when he’s buried balls deep in a restrained body, quaking at his every touch.

 

Yet at the thought of His Harry something stirred along his edges, implanting itself deep in his center, and his hips sped up a fraction. He kept his eyes open, out of responsibility, but he certainly didn’t see anything that was truly before him. It was rather easy to imagine the hair splayed across the throws was His Harry’s. And the eyes, conveniently hidden beneath their blindfold, could be any colour. Sure there were breasts to contend with, and a decidedly conspicuous lack of anatomy. And the unavoidable fact that a man and a woman’s hole were two completely different experiences.

 

But he could imagine.

 

And if it made it that much easier to reach completion? That was alright with him.

 

She felt the hand closing on her throat squeezing harder from the effort to not collapse, and the shaking of the body above her and the sheer feeling of being used… She was in heaven.

 

No, she never got an orgasm. She wasn’t expecting one, and frankly it wasn’t necessary. If she had gotten one it probably would have cheapened her experience. She lay perfectly still under his weight, listening to his shuddering breaths. The air was thick, and her head spun, but she figured that was a result of the unorthodox treatment. Finally the weight rolled to her side, and away from her body. Her bindings vanished with the weight, and she risked a glance at the quivering form. Before she had a chance to ask…

 

“I’m sorry, but could you…?”

 

She understood, could see the clouds in his eyes, and moved to sit up, gathering her clothing around herself. He would have offered to heal her stiff joints, or her bruising, but he knew better. She was never bitter or ungrateful at being moved out early, or even at the fact he couldn’t look at her. She wouldn’t be able to look at her either.

 

At the soft click of the door being closed, he flicked a stronger charm against it. Finally putting his hand to his eyes, hiding them from who knew what, he couldn’t stop the spasms wracking down his limbs and his chest quivered with the effort to hold something back.

 

Who was he fooling?

 

He wasn’t Draco fucking Malfoy…

 

Not anymore.

 

 

\--

 

 

**Now I just stare into the sun

And I see everything I've done

I think I could've been someone

But I can't stop what has begun

When everything's been said and done

And there is no place left to run

I think I have to be someone

Now I just stare into the sun**


	11. The Line Begins to Blur

**There are things I said I would never do

There are fears I cannot believe have come true

For my soul is too sick and it's too little and too late

And myself I have grown too weary to hate**

 

 

\--

 

 

A curious fact about Draco’s charms: they were meant to be a link between the owners of the two coins; as much as it was a means for communication, it was also a way to feel each other. And as Draco had not known this about the spell he’d used over them, he was equally unaware that the existence of multiple charms spread thin the connection, as if diluting the concentration of a liquid. You could call for each other just as easily, but your emotions were sublimely unknown to each other. And as Draco was unaware of all of this, he was also unaware of the fact that with only one charm left the connection between both halves was exponentially clearer.

 

 

**

 

 

Draco opened his eyes to the ceiling, holding in a groan. He hadn’t meant to sleep in his office. He really couldn’t think of it as his office any longer. He knew, especially after the previous night, that he’d never be able to work again. Merlin knows he’d tried. He’d given the girl everything he could manage, and in the end that only thing that got him anywhere was thinking of His Harry.

 

The realization settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He was so used to being the aloof and unconnected Dominator that there was simply no room for an attachment, let alone one as strong and demanding as the one he felt to the brunette. Somewhere along the way, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on where, something had changed. He went from working with a particularly pleasing client, to depending on said client for some sort of emotional return.

 

And he honestly couldn’t hate himself for it any longer.

 

He could, however, hate himself for reacting so rashly to the cuts on Harry’s legs. In truth he couldn’t conceive why he had responded the way he had. Logically, it was a very irrational punishment. As the rule that had been broken was one of vandalism, a consequence relating to the nature of the crime made more sense. The infraction had hurt Draco on a personal level, however; one he hadn’t yet been ready to acknowledge. Dismissal was the only thing keeping Draco in check. Merlin knows the boy didn’t need more violence. He was hurting himself; physical punishment from the blonde would not have been as impactful.

 

He only wished he knew what had driven the boy to such measures. Not professionally, of course. Such a desire came purely from the want to comfort the boy, hold him and tell him everything was alright. Which up until this frightening episode was not in the definition of their relationship, if you could still consider what they had a relationship.

 

This painful thought settled thickly and uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

 

 

**

 

 

Harry was still staring at the ceiling, lying on the cold tiled floor. The realization that he could think of the floor as ‘cold’ was worthy of his attention, eliciting a small gasp. All sensation and feeling and emotion that Harry had successfully avoided, by means of a probably very illegal potion, crashed down into his body abruptly from a very tall height. The weight of the impact sent his body curling inward, only to fall back limply against the aforementioned cold floor. He gasped for breath around the squeezing and pounding and aching he felt all over his body. All of these sensations did nothing to compete with the magnificent stab in the center of his chest. It took his breath away, and brought tears to his eyes.

 

He lay gasping for what seemed like an eternity, unable to move for fear of more intensely painful sensations settling into his limbs, before everything slowly (very slowly) melted away and he felt normal again; aside from the throbbing in his head, and the tremendous pang in his chest. He couldn’t quite figure where the pang came from, or even what it was. The closest he could ascribe to it was ‘remorse’. He almost felt like he’d lost something forever and was convinced that no matter how badly he wanted it back, he’d never get it.

 

Finally deciding he could live with the peculiar weight, he rolled to his side, slow deep breaths keeping him moving. Each level of height he achieved was rewarded with another shudder of hurt through his body, each settling at the base of his skull bringing tears to his eyes. He would have wondered if he’d ever truly get rid of the torment attacking his body, and a contritious part of him was convinced it was penance for thinking he could just banish all of his problems by taking a potion.

 

He’d remembered what it felt like. At the time it was absolute glorious bliss. Thinking back on it he felt incredibly foolish, shame burning his cheeks at just the thought of what he looked like. He thanked deities he knew must never exist that no one had had to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.

 

Certain that as much as he wanted to have the feeling of weightlessness the concoction had given him, he knew he didn’t deserve to have any more of it. The incredible pain to be dealt with at the end was only half enough reason to never try it again. The work of constantly having to remake and retake was another quarter. He simply didn’t feel worthy of the freedom. If he was meant to deal with the pain simply living gave him… … Maybe he would just stop living…

 

The sudden flash of the idea coursed through his brain, shock dulling the pounding at the nape of his skull. He stared at his pale reflection in the mirror. Examining every pore, every feature, he finally stared hard into his own eyes. The unexpected destination his train of thought took him was almost disconcerting, but only almost. He knew he was so painfully unhappy, and he knew the only thing that had ever given him any level of happiness was His Angel. He knew he’d never get him back, and therefore knew he’d never be happy again. He couldn’t fathom the idea that he’d find someone else. He’d never seen any evidence that someone else existed. Therefore, it was only entirely logical that since he’d never be happy again, there’d be no point in pursuing it. And obviously, what came next?

 

Taking in his palour once more, he was shocked to recognize how close to death he already looked. Just another tiny push in the right direction, that’s all he needed. Besides, even if he had thought he merited a second chance with the blonde, he was never truly satisfied with their parameters. That was what had forced him to indulge in the first place. Even if he COULD have him back, he’d never truly HAVE him. Harry was one of a hundred. His Angel didn’t care for him the way he wanted to be cared for; the way he cared for him.

 

There was no way around it.

 

It all came down to ‘what was the point’.

 

And there was no point. If he thought Draco would ever want him back after their last episode, he might have decided to walk back down right then and there and beg, plead, demand that Draco look at him. That Draco tell him what he wanted as penance. Instead he just stared at his reflection in wonder. Was he really thinking about this?

 

Some obscure pounding of a song he’d heard the summer previous rang in the back of his mind as he continued to stare at his reflection. His skin buzzed with a curious sensation. His brain felt fuzzy, but not out of focus. His entire being vibrated with an emotion he couldn’t name. A harsh swallow, and he suddenly felt more than he’d ever remembered feeling. He felt every breath pouring into his lungs, the blood coursing through his veins, his bare feet against the cold tiled floor of the bathroom.

 

He was really going to do this.

 

 

**

 

 

Something nibbled insistently at the edges of Draco’s consciousness. He knew it was something important, but he couldn’t place what exactly it was trying to say.

 

Alone in his own bathroom, towel hung low on his hips and hair dripping, he turned to stare into his own mirror. His gaze flickered over every feature. His muted visage blinked sharply into another, distinctly surprised face. He gasped in shock, taking a step back.

 

Did he see what he thought he’d seen?

 

“Harry?”

 

It was a whisper. He didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to think he might be going crazy.

 

He very well may have been.

 

But the look in His Harry’s face (for he knew it was him); Draco didn’t like the tremor going through his features. Was it something he’d just wanted to see, or was this something more? He knew it couldn’t possibly be all in his head. He didn’t want it to be.

 

He leaned on the sink well, edging closer to the glass.

 

“Show me,” he murmured.

 

The image melted disjointedly from his pale and blonde and pointed, to sallow tan and dark and blunt. He didn’t remember seeing His Harry look this poorly. What bothered him most was the new emotion splashed over the intense green eyes.

 

Resignation.

 

There was a touch of wonder and surprise, but overwhelmingly covered by resignation. And this scared the blonde.

 

“Are you real?”

 

Again a whisper, but at the sound of his voice the spell seemed broken again, and it melted away once more to show his own frightened face reflecting back at him.

 

He searched the image waiting for another to blossom, but nothing happened. A nervous sweat broke across his brow adding to the water still condensing on his skin from his shower. Should he wait? Should he go and see him? Should he just ignore it?

 

What was he going to do?

 

He wasn’t used to not knowing what to do and he felt sick to his stomach. Usually he was so in control and the loss of everything he knew just twisted. He could feel his breath increasing, and squeezed his eyes shut. The second everything went black a new vision exploded across the wall of his mind.

 

Harry standing on the astronomy tower. Looking down. Leaning incredibly close to the edge.

 

Draco wrenched open his eyes and his head spun. He felt like heaving his guts on the floor, and the overwhelming sense of despair shocked him to the core.

 

He stumbled backwards falling against the wall, still in view of the reflecting glass. Sliding toward the tiles, he fought against the desolation engulfing him. It was hard to breath, and he shuddered at the hint of anticipation flittering at his edges. He didn’t understand it. He felt helpless and all he wanted was his His Angel and he didn’t think he’d ever have him back and…

 

Wait…

 

 

\--

 

 

**As far as I have gone

I knew what side I'm on

But now I'm not so sure

The line begins to blur**


	12. Beside You in Time

**Now that I've decided not to stay  
I can feel me start to fade away  
Everything is back where it belongs  
I will be beside you before long**

 

\--

 

One foot in front of the other. It was easy; just step up, plant your weight, shift your other foot forward, step up, plant your weight again. Harry’d somehow managed to make it out of his bathroom, through his dorm room, out of his common room, and into the hall without coming across anyone. His luck was phenomenal. It was almost as if the fates wanted him to carry out his plans. So he continued his way, slowly climbing the stairs, traversing the corridors, making his way up and up and up. His body knew his destination, even if his head didn’t.

He hadn’t even made it out of his day old set of pajamas. His flannel pants and thin white tank hung on his pallid frame and he walked as if hypnotized, almost zombie-like. His feet moved themselves. He’d barely even come to terms with what he’d planned to do, but he was slowly acclimating to the fact. He was actually welcoming the oblivion he’d expected would follow. An anticipatory buzz hummed at his edges, and his stomach squirmed, and up he moved.

 

**

 

The anticipation never left the edges of his consciousness, but his head cleared and the visions ended. Draco was left panting on the cold tiles he felt so accustomed to by now. The ice against his cheek felt so familiar and welcoming.

One half of Draco’s brain knew this was silly. He’d never spent a night of his life on the bathroom floor. He was the collected one. Never over-indulged, never prone to fits of over-dramatics; but it still comforted him. He supposed that was all that mattered.

And with the new-found clarity the new position brought him, he knew what he had to do.

Rising steadily to his feet and reaching for the nearest thing he could wear (for he knew time was of the essence if his gut was anything to go by) he swept out of the bathroom, through his dorm room, through his common room, and into the hallways. He ignored every comment, rebuffed every proffered advance, and marched towards his destination. His head, as much as his body, knew exactly where he was going. He strode with purpose.

 

**

 

Harry reached another staircase, climbing steadily upwards. He had a picture in his mind, of what heaven might be like. He didn’t particularly feel as if he deserved it, but he knew he certainly couldn’t deserve hell. He felt content with small victories. His life was hell, so he could hope the afterlife would be better. The end of the staircase brought another one. He climbed that too.

 

**

 

Draco knew time was against him. He was starting in the dungeons, while Harry was starting from a tower. The closer the brunette got to his destination, the tighter Draco’s chest got. He sped his strides, hoping against hope that he’d be able to intercept.

He’d never make it.

 

**

 

Finally Harry stood nose to rung with the ladder that took you onto the deck where innocent students studied the stars, and not-so-innocent students studied each other’s bodies. A swallow, and a hand to the course wood, and a foot to the lowest rung; his weak body pulled itself up, one at a time.

Almost there.

 

**

 

Draco was finally amongst the towers, and gaining speed with each turn. He knew Harry was there. He knew how close he was, and he prayed he could run just a LITTLE faster. He jumped steps and hurtled round corners, lungs nigh bursting. His feet ached and his head pounded, but he HAD to make it!

 

**

 

The cold air, sun not quite risen, and a few stars twinkling their good-nights greeted Harry as he stood in the open air. He breathed in deeply, relishing the sensation he never thought he’d miss. The cold licked at his insides, and sent a gentle shiver down his spine.

Of course, it could have been a shiver of anticipation.

He looked around, arms open wide, spinning in a slow circle; an act to both take in the entirety of Hogwarts, and to say his own good night.

He raised his head to the skies, eyes blinking closed. He felt no remorse for his decision. A gentle sadness washed at his edges masking a dull panic that roared in his ears. He didn’t recognize this panic, and knew it wasn’t his. He pushed the thought out of his head, though, and stepped to the edge of observation deck, hands gently rubbing the stone.

 

**

 

Draco knew Harry was there. He could feel his fingertips on the ladder, and could smell his scent on the air. Biting back the last bit of trepidation at what he might find at the top, he scrambled up, completely disregarding all sense of propriety and dignity.

 

**

 

At the top, Draco let out a long-held breath. He knew His Harry was okay, so far. He still wasn’t sure how, but he did. And when he saw the brunette silhouetted against the almost-light sky, he fell back against the stone. He wasn’t sure if Harry saw him yet; his back was still to him. He saw his fingers splaying against the stone railing, though, and forced himself to step closer.

 

The shifting of bare feet on stone behind him caught Harr’s ear, and he held his breath. Turning his head slightly, he caught sight of the blonde behind him and stiffened. His brain was in conflict with itself. Should he kneel? Avert his gaze? Call him Sir? Ignore him completely? Pretend nothing ever happened between them? Beg for forgiveness? Fall to his knees and start crying?

That’s what he felt like doing.

As the tears pricked at his eyes, and it grew more difficult to breath, it took all he had to just stand still. He could feel the blonde advancing, and he realized how it made him feel.

Like a trapped animal.

“Don’t.”

The blonde was surprised to hear him speaking. He didn’t know what he expected, but it was more along the lines of him leaping over the edge the second he realized he was there.

“Harry, what are you doing?”

The gentleness in Draco’s voice was just too much. Harry just knew that he was coddling him because he felt guilty. He didn’t care, he just thought it was his fault; wanted to assuage his conscience.

He set his jaw and bit his tongue hard, brassy liquid filling his mouth. He heard the gasp behind him, and saw a flash in his head of the blonde’s mouth filled with blood. Turning around, he locked his gaze on His Angel. The longing, pulling from his chest and reaching out for the other boy, crippled his resolve. As his eyes filled too high with tears, he turned back to the railing and pulled himself atop the stone.

“Wait!”

The panic surprised both of them, and again they both stopped in their tracks. The wind kicking up around them, whipping Harry’s flannels against his legs. His hair seemed right at home in the flipping air, and at any other time Draco would have had to bite back a gasp, but just then all he could think about was that he didn’t want His Harry to die. He’d die before letting him go, and he said it out loud.

Unfortunately, in his angst ridden mind, Harry was convinced the statement was more of a jeer. A taunt indicating Draco didn’t think he could do it.

Draco shook his head at how out of touch His Harry seemed to be. He could hear everything His Harry was thinking, but he was too clouded and muddled by his own emotions to hear how the blonde felt. Draco still didn’t understand their tangible connection, but he was glad for it. He never wanted to quit feeling what His Harry was feeling; even the incredible malcontent he was feeling now.

Through his musings, he found himself closer to the teetering brunette. Harry now stood on the edge, stock still and staring down to the ground below. His eyes were glazed, as if not even seeing the ground at all. Maybe he believed he’d never hit. Maybe he thought he’d just float away. Draco watched as he shook his head, almost as if to himself. Draco stepped even closer as he watched Harry toe at the edge, sliding his foot forward until it hung freely in the air.

“Harry, please.”

He didn’t care that his voice broke, cracking slightly. He just wanted His Harry down, in his arms. But Harry didn’t respond to his voice this time. The pull from the grounds below seemed magnetic and he watched as His Harry leaned further, arms spreading wide and catching the wind that still fluttered madly around them.

Finally Harry turned around to look into the face of the man that both graced and tortured his dreams. Draco could see the tears in his eyes, and was petrified of the waver in Harry’s step as he leaned both against and away from the wind.

“Harry, come down.”

Harry shook his head in answer, not even realizing he was answering. Draco was afraid of approaching quicker, especially with Harry watching him. Any sudden movement, any surprise, might send him over. They stared into each other’s eyes. Their breath matched the other’s. A flurry of thoughts knocked at the edges of Draco’s consciousness. He heard it clearly, Harry’s voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you.”

“I’ll be with you soon.”

“It’ll be better next time.”

All of thoughts, unconscious streams of ideas pouring from Harry’s brain to his. It was almost too much, the monotonous words, so full of emotion, assaulting his senses.

“Stop.”

A whisper.

He blearily noticed as Harry’s glasses were set on the stone at his feet.

“Stop.”

Louder now, almost drowning out the sound.

Harry looked over his shoulder at the ground one last time, clearly not seeing anything through the incredible blur.

“Stop!”

A shout, much too late as the foot edged back, meeting thin air.

The wind blew through dark hair as an almost peaceful, quietly resigned face fell back to meet its fate. Draco threw himself forward, pale hands gripping stone, and watched as green eyes flew open to lock on his once more. He bit back a gasp at the fear and love that poured from them, and without thinking leaned forward, throwing his hand out as if to stop traffic.

The wind roared in his ears as it nearly carried away his shouted words, taking away the one thing in his life that ever meant anything.

 

\--

 

**Oh, we will never die  
Oh, beside you in time  
Oh, we will never die  
Oh, beside you in time**


	13. Right Where it Belongs

**See the animal in his cage that you built

Are you sure what side you're on?

Better not look him too closely in the eye

Are you sure what side of the glass you are on?**

 

 

\--

 

 

A blonde and a brunette walked languidly through the hallway, completely ignorant of all the other bodies jostling around them. They had nowhere to be. Nobody mattered but each other. They had a date together in the dungeons. The brunette had a job, and upon completion of said job the blonde was required to reward him. There really was no reason to use the word ‘required’, however, because giving the reward was really the highlight of the blonde’s day. And if the brunette slipped up and needed punishing instead? Well that was okay, too.

 

 

**

 

 

It was simple really. It was one of the very first lessons they had learned in their first week at Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Of course, the fact that it was performed wandlessly was no never-mind. The pure raw emotion behind the spell was a testament to the connection between the two involved.

 

A simple ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ was all it took.

 

 

**

 

 

Anyone looking in at the relationship between the two would never really recognize anything different. The two still fought, though there was a decided spark in both their eyes that wasn’t there before. Of course, every once in a while there would be a day where the brunette would go completely out of character and be nice or even gracious towards the blonde’s friends, or Merlin forbid, to the blonde himself.

 

It was usually after one of these episodes that the brunette got a particularly satisfying reward.

 

 

**

 

 

The spell had hit the falling body with a silver splash swirling around the limbs and torso, fighting against the wind throwing itself around the castle. The magic gently slowed then lifted the body, following a lazy sort of dance up the side of the tower.

 

Draco had stood gob smacked as the body floated over the edge of the stone wall and down to his feet. He had dropped to his knees instantly, reaching out and effectively breaking the spell. But it was alright; green eyes stared hard into his, just as confused and maybe just as happy.

 

 

**

 

 

The scars had of course healed. No new ones were ever made, unless of course you count the evidence of their play. Which one shouldn’t, because they were always healed afterwards with a tremendous amount of gentle care and love. The blonde never saw another client. He devoted all of his time and energy to the brunette.

 

They were both the happier for it.

 

 

**

 

 

Of course the second their eyes had met on the tower, Harry on his back and Draco on his knees, the smaller boy had burst into body wracking sobs. He had fisted Draco’s shirt, holding himself as close as possible. Having failed at the only solution he’d managed to come up with, he was lost, but Draco finally had the chance to tell him exactly what he’d discovered since their previous parting.

 

That they were made for each other.

 

And he couldn’t be happier with it.

 

 

**

 

 

There were of course many rumours regarding the end of Draco’s service to the public. None of them ever came nearly close to the truth. It was simply too much of a stretch to imagine Draco choosing one out of the many, let alone that that one was Harry Potter.

 

And the fact that the two were seen as so completely opposite from each other, figure heads of two different sides in a war and child hood rivals from the beginning, made it that much more difficult to see the truth. Under the surface of everyday proceedings, when they’d exchange a look, or slip a touch, or even find each other in a dark corner between classes long enough to steal a kiss or even a hug...

 

No one ever imagined the truth.

 

It was simply too bizarre.

 

And that made it perfect.

 

 

\--

 

 

**What if everything around you

Isn't quite as it seems?

What if all the world you used to know

Is an elaborate dream?**


End file.
